Friday, April 18, 2014

Gabriel García Márquez and Fidel Castro: Birds of a Feather


[Unless they meet again in some Dantean latitude, Fidel Castro and Gabriel García Márquez had their last meeting a month ago [July 2008] in Havana. By year's end, one or the other will be dead; perhaps both. Their mutual admiration society will not be disbanded, however. Both shall continue to live in each others "works:" the tyrant as the sycophant's inspiration and the sycophant as the tyrant's well-used tool. The following article, from 1988, explores the most embarrassing and revealing episode of García Márquez's association with Cuba, which began in 1962 when he was contracted as a propagandist for Prensa Latina, Castro's "news service." In his "Reflection" on their last meeting Castro credits García Márquez with saving his life during a state visit to Colombia in the 70s. Fidel asked the then Nobel Prize-winning author to accompany him in his motorcade and, supposedly, García Márquez encephalitic head blocked a markman's view of Castro's and saved him to tyrannize another 3 decades.]


By: Manuel A. Tellechea
The New York Tribune
Commentary Section, p. 9
September 27, 1988

Castro's Pet Author Lends his Nobel Credentials to Marxist Cuba

Gabriel García Márquez is the best known and most vocal of Castro's apologists in Latin America. He is also Latin America's greatest writer, according to García Márquez himself, most English-speaking critics and a committee of literary Swedes. How much the writer owes his reputation to the apologist, I will leave unanswered. It is clear, though, that the apologist precedes the writer and that both are now fused in the consciousness of the world.

This was demonstrated recently by so casual an event as the defection of García Márquez's personal secretary, which was reported on the front pages of many Latin American newspapers, and not, as one might have supposed, in the classifieds of the literary section. Defection? you protest. Men defect from governments, not from other men. Yes, that's exactly my point. García Márquez is perhaps the only man who lives in Cuba by choice, not compulsion. He lives, of course, in his own extraterritorial enclave which is not only a world apart but another world altogether: a one-man foreign legation representing all the useful idiots of Latin America, where liberty has been nominally decreed for those who most vociferously defend tyranny.

It was from this enclave that Antonio Valle y Vallejo defected. As García Márquez's personal secretary, he had been a daily visitor to his compound. No mere typist or glorified amanuensis, Valle was a professor of Marxist history and philosophy at Havana University and the Lenin Institute. He was also García Márquez's assistant at the Foundation of the Modern Cinema, which the Colombian founded and runs from Havana. And, yes, he transcribed and retyped García Márquez's manuscripts and may have offered a hint or two on the Marxist dialectic when needed.

Valle saw early on that his future did not lay as an exalted professor of lies or cinematographer by rote, but in the simple tasks that he performed for his friend and mentor. García Márquez was not unappreciative. He had his picture taken with Valle, a mark of the highest regard in Latin America. He inscribed Valle's copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude with a cryptic but telling dedication. Finally, came the reward for which Valle had long been hoping and waiting. García Márquez invited Valle to travel with him to Colombia for the Cartagena Film Festival. The magic realist had opened to him a door to another world, but Valle knew that he could not expect any help from him in realizing his defection. He could not guess, however, that his mentor would try to have him killed because of it.

On learning that Valle had gone missing,on his watch, so to speak, García Márquez phoned President Barco of Colombia and requested his assistance in locating him. As a personal favor to Colombia's preeminent son, Barco issued orders that placed his country's security forces at the orders of the DGI operatives that had accompanied the Cuban delegation to the film festival. Just as for an athlete or any other defector from Cuba capture would have meant forced repatriation and a lifetime of expiation in prison or the cane fields.

Valle sought refuge in the only place in Colombia that he trusted would not turn him over to his pursuers -- the U.S. embassy in Bogota; and, ironically, he was granted asylum on the basis of the cryptic but telling inscription in his copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude: "For Tony, the son that Naomi snatched away, with an embrace from his papa lost in the labyrinth of nada (nothingness), Gabriel '86." That dedication, by the way, is in itself an entire García Márquez novel and would alone justify the award of diplomatic asylum to Valle. Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son in obedience to his God is a fitting parallel except that García Márquez's god would have had him go through with it.

García Márquez's ties to the DGI were well-known even before the defection of Antonio Valle, though Valle's defection provided rather squalid proof of it. Ricardo Bofill, whose curriculum vitae is almost identical to Valle's, was the first to denounce García Márquez as an informant for the DGI based on his own experience with him. A member of the Communist Party even before Castro came to power, Bofill was for many years chairman of the Marxist Department at Havana University, and as Cuba's leading Marxist ideologue had entry into the highest party echelons as well as García Márquez's charmed circle. Bofill was purged and imprisoned for "divisionism" in the 1970s (his sin was that he wanted Soviet planners to handle Cuba's economy directly, not through Castro, thereby removing one layer of insanity from a two-layer system). Bofill later re-emerged as the president of Cuba's unofficial Helsinki Human Rights Committee. It is interesting that Bofill still considers himself a Marxist and regards García Márquez as a betrayer not because the Colombian novelist is an ideological Marxist (which Bofill is also) but because he is a practical Marxist (i.e. one who turns abstract notions into hideous deeds and accepts unseemly rewards for his treachery).

García Márquez's unstinting hero-worship of Fidel Castro is a matter of public record, but less known are the rewards he has reaped from his association with him. The Cuban state press has published more editions of this foreigner's works than it has of any living or dead Cuban author. García Márquez has used the royalties he has received -- which, incidentally, were paid to him not for actual sales but the official press run -- to purchase and restore a 19th century palazzo in old Havana. He also owns a yacht and his own private beach and marina in Cuba.

Bofill charges that he has acquired these not through his literary work but because he furnishes the Cuban government with information on internal and external dissidents. In other others, he "sounds out" local writers on their views of the Revolution and reports their answers to the DGI. It is also alleged that he provides the DGI with information on Cuban authors and artists living abroad who have not officially broken with the Revolution but are privately critical of it. García Márquez's defenders have countered that he has on occasion assisted Cuban friends who have fallen afoul of the regime. No names are ever given of the beneficiaries of his intervention and he has never been a signatory to any petition on behalf of Cuban political prisoners or any imprisoned Cuban in particular. His conduct in respect to his closest literary associate in Cuba should give the lie to all who think better of him than he deserves.

It is true that García Márquez has enough money to live anywhere he wishes and buy anything he wants. But he wants to live in Cuba and in opulence. And that boon is not obtained just with dollars. As José Martí wrote 100 years ago, "Every tyranny has at hand one of those learned men to think and write, to justify, to extenuate, and to disguise. Sometimes it has many of them, because literature is often coupled with an appetite for luxury, and with the latter comes a willingness to sell oneself to whomever can satisfy it."
 
http://reviewofcuban-americanblogs.blogspot.com/2008/08/from-tellechea-newspaper-archives.html


***


The following comment was not left here, but on amazon.com, where it appears as a review of Fidel & Gabo: A Portrait of the Legendary Friendship Between Fidel Castro and Gabriel García Marquez, by Angel Esteban and Stephanie Panichelli [2011]. The author is one of many Castro apologists on the internet who recalls -- fondly, as he admits -- having jousted with me on Cuban forums in the past and wishes again to capture my attention, which he has in fact done. I rarely venture from these precincts now, and even here I am not a constant presence. But I am still nothing if not obliging to his ilk, because I know that I am right and suspect that their "better angels" also know it and require my help to free themselves from their thralldom to lies and certain unholy associations. Why else would they seek me out years after our last encounter when even the forum (Cubamania) where we crossed swords is long defunct, but not, alas, the gerontocracy to which it was devoted? I can't reprogram them all one by one: too many of them and not enough of me to go around.

But I will make exceptions for those as Mr. Johnson who believe that Communism "isn't all it's cracked up to be" except when applied to our unhappy country. In his eyes, Fidel Castro's only crime is to "have hung onto the broken idealism right until the end." The only idealism that Fidel Castro ever espoused in his life was personal idealism, that is, the idealization of the self. That idealism is not broken. Sixty years of failures at the expense of his countrymen have not shaken in the least his faith in himself, because he has been able to escape the effects of his own folly and will likely be the only Cuban dictator to die in his own bed. "Broken idealism" is not Castro's legacy, but broken dreams and broken lives, broken everything in that vast madhouse where he has confined his people for more than 50 years, when, in fact, the solution to Cuba's problems required the confinement of only one man -- himself.

It is Mr. Johnson's ridiculous conceit that the enmity of his enemies (not the flattery of his friends) has empowered Castro and that except for it he might have relinquished power long ago. According to this theory, Chamberlain was right to appease Hitler and World War II was averted thanks to his profound understanding of the psyche of tyrants. A residual benefit of this policy, for the likes of Mr. Johnson, is that the tyrant's apologists and appeasers emerge as not only the real heroes but the real opponents of tyranny, because their flattery and credulity were successful in defeating or containing his plans and giving mankind "peace in our time."  (For those who consider comparisons to Hitler odious, let them remember that Castro came closer to blowing up the world than Hitler did).

Mr. Johnson also errs in assuming that the trade embargo has been instrumental in keeping Castro in power by providing a convenient excuse for all his failures. Tyrants do not acknowledge let alone justify their failures; certainly, this tyrant never has. The trade embargo has not prevented the U.S. from becoming one of Cuba's largest trading partners. Its sole remaining proscriptions are that Communist Cuba must pay with cash for what it buys and cannot borrow from U.S. banks. Is Cuba's sovereignty now dependent on borrowing from U.S. banks and is U.S. imperialism limited to refusing to extend credit to Castro & Co.? Is this the terrible "blockade" of leftist folklore? As an inhabitant of another island (England, that is), Mr. Johnson should know the real definition of a blockade.

Finally, it is not a gutted embargo nor a non-existent blockade that has kept Fidel Castro politically invulnerable for more than half a century. It is, rather, the Kennedy-Khrushchev Pact, which established the U.S. as the guarantor of Communism in Cuba and which the U.S. has never repudiated. If Mr. Johnson favored the immediate repeal of this blatant example of U.S. imperialism, I would believe (for once) that he really has the best interests of the Cuban people at heart rather than the interests of the regime. But since it's the regime that allows his wife and children (still Cuban citizens) to enter and leave the island at its pleasure, and the regime also which can revoke the title to his house in Cuba (as it has done to millions of expatriate Cubans who are not married to Britons), Mr. Johnson is hardly an unbiased or disinterested commentator on the Cuban scene. I may not have been to Cuba in 50 years, but at least my family and I are not hostages of the regime, as he and his unfortunately are.

For someone with Mr. Johnson's privileged entry into Cuban society, we would have expected more profound insights than "since 1988 the world has moved on a bit." Which is true as a generality, but not in the case of Communist Cuba. It has not moved, and that is precisely the problem (though not for Mr. Johnson). Neither through its own volition nor the world's propulsion has Cuba "moved on" since 1988 (or, indeed, since 1959). So everything that I have written about Cuba in that interim is as topical today as it was then. I don't even have to change a word. As for Raúl Castro's "reforms," which Mr. Johnson regards as emblematic of movement, Cubans are now allowed to sew buttons for a living; may rent a hotel room for a night with a year's wages; and may even own airplanes if they choose (though a certain class of Cubans has always has these at its disposal and on stand-by). These "reforms" only allow Cubans on the island to spend their own money (or, more likely, the money their relatives send them from abroad) on a greater variety of goods at the company store. Since Castro & Co. enjoys a monopoly on all material goods sold on the island, the state alone stands to profit from these "reforms." The profits it derives from fostering the erstwhile bogeyman of consumerism will be spent on modernizing and expanding its apparatus of repression, not providing the "glass of milk a day" which Raúl infamously promised all Cubans upon his dynastic ascension. If Cubans can make any money sewing buttons or selling croquettes (after buying the materia prima at Castro's retail stores), they might be able to afford an extra egg a month, and that will be Raúl's legacy of "reform."

Free elections and free markets are what Cuba needs, Mr. Johnson. Any other sort of "reforms" are not intended to lead toward them, but, rather, to forestall the day of the final reckoning between the tyrant and the people.

       

Birds of a Feather? Sounds more like a review from a dead duck

By Keith Johnson

Barely cold is the body of Gabriel García Márquez, and here we have reviewer Manuel A. Tellechea jumping on his soapbox to forge another sad morsel of political capital. But fear not, folks, this is just the same old re-hashed rhetoric from a quarter of a century ago. What Manny - as we used to call him on the Cuba travel forums - fails to mention is that his "review" is just a cut-and-past of an article that he first published in The New York Tribune in 1988, and again today on his José Martí blog at

[...]

Since 1988 the world has moved on a bit. Even Raúl Castro seems to be waking up to the fact the the communist dream isn't all it's cracked up to be and making some tentative moves towards a market economy. With Chavez gone from Venezuela, the number of people still living the dream will surely soon be down to just one.

A lot of people who should have known better got caught up in the socialist revolutionary fervour of the 20th century. Most of them eventually woke up to the reality as they saw the Berlin Wall and eastern bloc regimes falling one after another, and the smart ones quietly renounced their old beliefs and settled into the world of mainstream political thought. Some found it harder to do so, and a small number - including Fidel Castro - have hung onto the broken idealism right until the end. Where Gabriel García Márquez lies in this spectrum is a matter for the diligent reader to evaluate, but there will be opinions at both extremes as represent in the reviews here, and as ever the truth lies somewhere in between.

What Manny and the rabidly anti-Castro exiles in the US don't understand and will never accept is that it is their own vociferous hatred that has kept the Castros in power for over 50 years, by creating a clearly-defined enemy for them. A brief survey of history will reveal what a gift this is to any dictator, who can then thrive on the opportunity of making endless rhetoric against that enemy. Even more so in the case of Cuba, where the embargo has also provided a scapegoat for all the woes wrought on the Cuban people by the failings of the regime. Without the heat of anti-Castroism to fuel the revolutionary fire, it is reasonable to postulate that Fidel and Raúl might well have been long gone by now.

Manny has been notorious on travel forums for his attacks on anybody visiting Cuba for whatever, particularly Canadians. He considers all tourists to Cuba to be pedophiles, communists and apologists for a dictatorial regime. A sample of his invective can be found here:

http://reviewofcuban-americanblogs.blogspot.com/2007/07/cubamania-how-acquainted-are-you-with.html

I used to write as "Prospero" on that forum, and enjoyed much sparring with Manny there. I'm married to a Cuban, we have two small children and a house in Cuba, although we live most of the time in England. As far as I know, Manny hasn't set foot on the island himself in the last 50 years, but instead of trying to get visitors on-side and encourage them to use their trips to slowly subvert and chip away at the regime by opening the eyes of ordinary Cubans, he chooses to alienate the very people who could help his cause by throwing insults at them.

By advocating a policy of no travel to Cuba, the anti-Castros reduce the opportunity of Cubans on the island to acquaint themselves with the real world outside. Far from trade embargoes and isolation, it has been social and cultural exchange that has brought about the downfall of most dictatorial regimes, in recent years notably in the Middle East. One only needs to look at how such regimes try to control access to the Internet to see how much they really fear openness and information from the outside. Tourism brings these things with it, and as such it was only ever reluctantly embraced by the Cuban regime when Russia pulled out of its economic support for Cuba in the 1990s and there was no other option.

So Manny's hatred of someone like Gabriel García Márquez is only to be expected. Intelligent readers will study books like this and others, will examine how the social, political and cultural contexts have changed over time before making up their own minds, rather than buy into the over-blown rhetoric of one side or the other.

Fortunately younger Cubans on both sides of the divide are now beginning to see that breaking down the barriers is the real way to defeat totalitarianism. Soon when all the old men are dead communism can be laid to rest once and for all and the world can move on - at least until some other would-be revolutionary rediscovers it.

http://www.amazon.com/Fidel-Gabo-Portrait-Legendary-Friendship-ebook/dp/B005LW2IHA/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397817970&sr=1-1&keywords=Fidel+Gabo

Tuesday, July 09, 2013

More Observations on the Romero E-mail

In response to Vana's comment in the previous post:
 
Vana:
 
I confess that I got a jolt when I saw the e-mail header in my Inbox: "From Victoria and Martí Romero." Although María Mantilla was not Martí's daughter, and her granddaughters are not María Mantilla, I was still moved. The name "María Mantilla" is known to all Cubans, not on her account, because she did nothing herself to merit her celebrity, but because of her association to José Martí, and, specifically, because of the great love he professed for her. For an earlier generation of martianos, who truly believed, in the absence of all evidence to the contrary, that she was indeed Martí's daughter, meeting her in person was almost an existential experience: to see, hear and perhaps touch Martí's love incarnate. It was an experience that brought many of them to tears, as when Mohammed's followers were in the presence of his daughter Fatima. I felt something of that, at two removes, when I was contacted by María Mantilla's granddaughters, although I know that they are not Martí's great-granddaughters and consider any attempt on their part to represent themselves as such by assertion or insinuation to be a gross imposture.

What you say about the tone of their letter is entirely true. The profusion of indignant "sirs," which lent it a certain comical effect, not altogether unamusing, was intended as a challenge: "Sir, at long last, have you no shame! How dare you deny that our grandmother was a bastard when she herself affirmed it! Sir, you are a cad because no gentleman would offend my grandmother's memory by denying her illegitimacy, or embarrass her granddaughters by so infamous a libel."

I overlooked the tone of their letter in my reply because, of course, I am a gentleman, but also because it seems to me that they are grappling with the truth and may eventually surrender to it (though for now they are stuck at the "kill the messenger" stage). "The Myth of Martí's Natural Daughter" has pushed them in the right direction, but they are still struggling, against the current, to return to the world of make-believe in which they were raised by their own admission. Nevertheless, they are beginning to understand, as I said in my reply to their e-mail, that love is thicker than blood, and that their grandmother's place in history is secure because of Martí's great love for her, not because his blood ran in her veins (which it did not). They have also gained, thanks to Nydia Sarabia's biography, a new appreciation for their great-grandmother Carmen Miyares' place in Cuban history. She was indeed a patriot, and Martí's greatest supporter and closest collaborator: the only woman in his life that was worthy of him.

María Mantilla was a beautiful child and a beautiful woman even in her last years. Everybody always said so and her photographs prove it. And, of course, even a "rival" like "Teté" Bances, the widow of Martí's only son, was impressed and captivated by her appearance on the only occasion she ever saw her (as she admits, from a distance). Believing, as everybody did then, that María was her late husband's half-sister, she naturally looked for a "family resemblance" and found it in their long tapered fingers, in the shape of their faces,and even in some similar mannerisms. But, really, is this any basis on which to fix paternity, and is "Teté" Bances, who never met Martí, the most qualified to do so? Well, she's as well-qualified as anybody else since trying to establish paternity through anthropological comparisons is pseudo-science, even crank science. Yes, comparisons of skulls (not fingers or faces) might tell us if a primitive humanoid was a distant ancestor of man; it will not tell us, however, if any two humans are siblings. Only shared DNA can do that.

Martí's sisters left hundreds of descendants (all nieces and nephews of Martí). Why haven't the Romero sisters sought out their "Martí cousins" in Cuba or Miami and asked them to have their DNA tested and compared to theirs? They went to Cuba, in 2004, supposedly to visit with a newly found Romero cousin whom they met on a genealogy chat site. Why didn't they contact their putative "Martí cousins," whose DNA held the answer to all their questions? I, personally, do not have any questions that need to be answered, nor do I fear that I would be "surprised" by the results of such a test. I am not the first person to make this suggestion and I wonder that the descendants of "María Martí" (as María Mantilla's name is written on her gravestone) have never sought to establish their claims in the only way that they can be established. If they want a definitive answer, a DNA test is the way to get. But, then again, it may be that they don't want a definitive answer. Why let reality intrude on such a charming fairy tale? Besides, one can't discredit a fairy tale; one can only expose a lie.
 
María Mantilla was only four when her real father Manuel Mantilla died. The only "father" that she ever knew and loved was her godfather José Martí. His love for her, which was as perfect as any father's love, may well have convinced her that what she desired most in the world was not a child's fantasy but reality. In her, we can excuse this self-delusion but not in her descendants. She did not have the benefit of knowing then all that we know now. She was never shown Martí's letter to Victoria Smith where he denies an adulterous affair with her mother Carmen at the time of María's birth. Now it really does come down to whether one believes Martí or no. María Mantilla would have believed him even if it broke her heart to know that she was not his biological daughter. Hopefully, some day her granddaughters will also believe him.

Saturday, July 06, 2013

An E-mail from María Mantilla's Granddaughters

I received today an e-mail from Victoria and Marti Romero, granddaughters of María Mantilla. It was written as a response to The Myth of José Martí's Natural Daughter.
 
Dear Mr. Tellechea,

I tried to post this letter from us on your blog, but it wouldn't accept it. I assume it is too long. Therefore, I am emailing it to you.

Thank you.

Victoria Romero


June 28, 2013

Dear Mr. Tellechea,

I am Victoria Romero, and my sister Marti Romero (yes, Jose Marti’s namesake) and I have read with interest your blog about our grandmother, Maria Mantilla. We have found some fabrications of the truth, and we’d like to clear this up.

First, you say that “…Maria’s four granddaughters….visited Havana to obtain recognition from the Castro regime of Maria Mantilla’s legitimacy….” There were two of us who traveled to Cuba, not four. Just Marti and I.

Second, for your information, Maria Mantilla had three granddaughters and one grandson, not four granddaughters (one of her granddaughters, our cousin Holly, recently passed away).

We went to Cuba, sir, to explore our Cuban heritage, to meet a cousin on the Romero side of our family whom we found on a genealogy site, and to participate in the celebrations of the 150th anniversary of Jose Marti’s birth. We were basically there to walk in the footsteps of our grandmother’s from 50 years before. It is almost comical of you to presume we would even think of trying to meet with Mr. Castro – it is a most preposterous thought! And, for the record, we did not EVEN have in our mind to “obtain recognition…of Maria Mantilla’s illegitimacy.”

While growing up in this fascinating family, as children we never questioned the authority or honesty of the adults who were teaching us. When we asked about the handsome child in the photo with the medal on his chest, we were told it’s your great grandfather. We took that as truth. Why would we question that? Only as adults, after doing some reading, have we begun to question the validity of our grandmother’s declaration. However, as we have learned, truth is stranger than fiction.

Having said this, we would like to offer you the following tidbit of information. We are in possession of a book entitled La Patriota del Silencio: Carmen Miyares, a historical biography of our great-grandmother. The book was researched and written by Nydia Sarabia, a journalist with Granma, the Cuban newspaper among other things. I am pretty sure you may be aware of who Sra. Sarabia is; if not, you can easily gather information on her through the Internet.

We both received copies of this book directly from Sra. Sarabia during our 2004 visit to Cuba. Let me cut to the chase. In Sra. Sarabia’s book she includes a letter, or testimonial, given to her by Tete Bances, Pepe Marti’s widow. The testimonial was given years before her death. A translation of the book states:

“She requested not to publish it while she was still alive. Dona Sarabia complied with the request.

Now as time has passed and as in society no longer exist the prejudices of a bygone era during the Maestro’s life, we reveal this, although we repeat like Tete Bances, Pepe Marti’s widow, without any documentation to prove it, as a hypothesis, but with the greatest respect to all the individuals involved in this matter. Nonetheless, we found Tete Bances’ observations to be very interesting, and perhaps they may shed some light, because as Emilio Roig de Leuchsenring well explained in 1925, it may be that “the hour of truth and justice” may have arrived with Maria’s testimony given in a letter to Gonzalo de Quesada y Miranda in 1959 in her own handwriting.” (referring to a letter written by Maria Mantilla y Romero to Sr. Quesada y Miranda regarding her being the daughter of Jose Marti).

The testimonial of Maria Teresa Bances, widow of Marti’s son is as follows (regarding Maria Mantilla y Romero’s visit to Cuba in 1953 celebrating the 100th anniversary of the birth of Jose Marti):

“I did not know Maria Mantilla in person. I had only references about her. This was a delicate subject with my husband, and we never spoke about Maria’s existence. However, Marti’s Centennial arrived in January of 1953. As the only daughter-in-law of Marti I was invited to a banquet, where Batista, the president in turn, was to attend. The Centennial Commission insisted I attend, although I was not all that interested, since I never cared for these official functions.

Finally, they convinced me and I attended the banquet. I was not ushered to the place I really deserved, and discretely I was seated at some distance from the presidential table. That disgusted me, but for the sake of good manners I remained there.

How surprised I was when Maria Mantilla’s arrival was announced. When I first saw her closely in person for the first time, I was impressed by her resemblance to my departed husband Pepe Marti.

I couldn’t believe that the physical resemblance would hide a relationship to Pepe. As I watched her conversing with others around her, I realized that her expressions, her smile, the way she sat, aside from her physical resemblance as her face, her hands, were so much like those of Pepe Marti, I could not but convince myself that they were related.

Despite my observations, my feminine intuition, we were not introduced and I immediately left the place. In fact, I was impacted by the resemblance, although I had no proof. Maria Mantilla was a distinguished woman. There was much of her in my husband, Pepe Marti y Zayas Bazan.”

We can rightfully declare ourselves as the granddaughters of Maria Mantilla. As far as being Jose Marti’s great granddaughters, well, who knows? It doesn’t matter to us. We are proud to be of Cuban heritage and we will continue to read and learn about the life of the man, Jose Marti.


We encourage you, sir, to check your facts before writing in your blog about people you don’t even know. We would have gladly given you our point of view and the correct information-all you had to do is ask. Do not hesitate to respond to our post.

Respectfully,

Victoria and Marti Romero


My response to their email:

Dear Mesdames Victoria and Marti Romero,

If it were in my power to pick a daughter for José Martí, I would most assuredly choose María Mantilla. For one thing, I know that is what Martí would have wanted, because he loved your grandmother more than he loved anyone else in the world. Love is thicker than blood, and your grandmother's place in history is secure because of Martí's great love for her.

Is it necessary also to claim that Martí was her father when he himself denied in writing any such supposition? Is this not to take the part of Victoria Smith and other cynics who have cast aspersions at the purity of Martí's love for not only Carmen Miyares and María Mantilla, but the whole Mantilla family?

Live proud that your family sustained Martí emotionally and physically in his darkest hours. I truly believe that without its exemplary love and support Martí would not have been able to endure his via crucis or fulfill his apostolic mission. What greater glory could be yours than that?

It is your responsibility and that of your entire family to endeavor always to be worthy of that legacy. This requires, at the least, that you do not allow yourselves to be used as propaganda props by the Castro regime, which has robbed the Cuban people of the freedom which Martí died to obtain for them (you are, I hope, aware of that fact).

Your letter will be published in the José Martí Blog and I will answer all your points there.

With highest regards and best wishes to the descendants of Martí's spiritual family,

Sincerely,

Manuel A. Tellechea

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Fidel Castro (1926-2012?)

A Celebration Without a Victory

I'm trying my best to get in a festive mood but I can't seem to manage it. I suppose because there's nothing to celebrate. The death of Fidel Castro will not be the end of Castroism in Cuba much less the re-birth of freedom there. Even his death per se is far from satisfactory. Death is a biological certainty. It comes to all men regardless of the good or evil that they do in life. There is nothing retributive in it. Castro's death is no exception. It is ridiculous to regard it as our "victory." If anything it is his victory: Fidel was never brought to justice for his crimes and his death guarantees that he never will be. The biggest mass murderer in the history of the Western Hemisphere will die in his own bed. Can any of us say with certainty that he shall do the same? Millions have expired in the last 50 years who asked for nothing more than to die in their own country yet their prayers went unanswered just so that he might become the first dictator in Cuban history to die in his own bed.

A death like Che Guevara's was worth celebrating because it signified the triumph of justice.

Castro's death confirms only the injustice of life.

The bottles of champagne that were purchased 50 years ago to toast the re-birth of freedom in our country have all now turned to vinegar. It is only these bottles that should be opened on the occasion of Castro's death.

Gall is the only drink that befits such an occasion.

RCAB, January 16, 2009



On the Day that Fidel Castro Dies

I do not know if Fidel Castro is dead or not. I have accepted, however, the fact that there will be no final reckoning extracted from him, nothing as poetic as Mussolini's corpse dangling upside down in a gutter or Ceausescu's riddled with bullets in a pool of his festering blood. We shall have no such national catharsis. Even Hitler's fate, execution by his own hand as the Doomsday clock ticked, he has avoided. The architect of our country's ruin will die in his own bed, as no other Cuban dictator has done before. The chaos of 50 years, in whose maelstrom he lived and thrived, shall survive him; but he shall no longer be at the center of it. It is not known what if anything he will take with him, but one thing is certain: if our country is ever to move beyond him, Fidel Castro's physical existence — animal, vegetable or mineral — must finally lapse and resolve itself into innate matter. He will be less dangerous that way, though his maggots will continue to feed on our country for years to come, continuing his work of destruction after him.

Fidel's death by installments, which is a measure of justice for him and injustice for us, served the ends of his successor by allowing him to consolidate his power in his brother's shadow. It also showed the Cuban people how truly irrelevant Fidel had become except as the bogeyman of all their nightmares. In two years the Cuban people have become comfortable with the idea of a moribund-to-dead Castro. Those who regarded him as a god must have been surprised at how easy it is to let a god die. The impact of his death, if not thus diluted, might have caused more of a national convulsion. Now it is but another sham spectacle that they must endorse with their presence. At least the professional criers that followed 19th century funerals were compensated for their tears. That work now is obligatory and unavoidable. There will be tears enough to shed on that day, not for him, of course, but for everything that he blighted and obliterated in his passage through the earth.

RCAB, January 15, 2009

Thursday, July 05, 2012

July the Fourth



"Esta tierra mágica y clemente, que llama a sí a los tristes y sin cansarse amasa panes para todos los que se proclaman sus hijos". — José Martí

"This magical and merciful land that beckons the unfortunate and tirelessly kneads the bread for all who proclaim themselves her sons." — José Martí

Monday, July 02, 2012

Laura Lomas Continues to Defame José Martí: Part 2

In her article in Translation Review, which runs 22 pages (including endnotes), Laura Lomas does not have much room to exhibit her prodigious ignorance of Martí's biography, or, perhaps, after her tour de force in Translating Empire, she no longer has anything to prove (certainly not to us). Still, the reader who has the patience to chop through the weeds will not go unrewarded; the field may be smaller but that very fact allows a more careful inspection and greater scope for presenting our findings in this limited space:

p. 13 "Translation serves [Martí] as a method of defining his own, his region's, and his diasporic community's perspective and concerns in relation to the 'other America' (OC 6:34), or [to] 'the America that is not ours' (OC 8:35)."

We are still waiting for Lomas to explain how Martí's translation of Hugh Conway's Called Back or Thomas Moore's Lalla-Rookh, not to mention his projected translation of Dianah Mulock Craik's John Halifax, Gentleman -- all from English/Irish authors -- "serve[d] him as a method of defining his own, his region's, and his diasporic community's perspective and concerns in relation to the 'other America,' or the 'America that is not ours.'"

p. 13 "[M]artí translated from English to Spanish, but also from French to Spanish, and in a few instances (and most likely in collaboration with others), from Spanish to English."

Martí also translated from English to Portuguese while employed at the commercial firm of C.[arlos] Carranza & Co., 60 Wall Street, from 1883 to 1885. (Yes, Martí worked on Wall Street. In fact, among the Papeles de Martí, collected by Gonzalo de Quesada y Miranda, there is a letter of recommendation on Martí's behalf from C. Carranza & Co. to W.R. Grace & Co.).

p. 13 "Martí initiated the translation of [Helen Hunt] Jackson's bestselling novel [Ramona] at his own expense."

Martí's friend, the Uruguayan diplomat Enrique Estrázulas, to whom Versos sencillos is co-dedicated, paid for the printing of Martí's translation of Ramona.

p. 14 "Another way of categorizing Martí's translations might be to divide them into self-initiated projects (translations of Hugo, Jackson, excerpts of prose and poetry of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow, Renan, Poe) that reveal Martí's criteria in electing to make certain texts and authors available to readers of Spanish, and projects that Martí completed at the behest of others."

In 1874, while briefly in Paris, Martí was introduced to Victor Hugo by the poet Auguste Vacquerie (whose brother Charles was married to Hugo's daughter). Hugo presented Martí with a copy of Mes Fils and entrusted to him the Spanish translation. Clearly, this was not a "self-initiated project" but one that Martí "completed at the behest of [Hugo]."

p. 14 "[M]artí's primary goals as a translator were to guarantee his América's sovereignty, and to liberate and culturally enrich Hispano-American literature."

Those were the primary goals of some of his translations (e.g. Ramona and the anti-Cuban editorial in The Manufacturer, which was re-printed and refuted by Martí in The New York Post). As for other translations, see note above [p. 13/1].

p. 16 "[M]artí translated from the belly of the emerging U.S. empire."

Not very "emerg[ed]" at the time of Martí's death, nor destined to expand much after. In fact, this "U.S. empire" contracted more in the 20th century than it expanded.

p. 16 "This history of dislocation, after serving a prison sentence for his anti-colonial beliefs, after residence in various Central and South American nations and Spain as part of a Latin American and Caribbean diaspora, and with a canny sense of U.S. aspirations to 'take' his island and control or exploit aspects of other Latin American countries, led Martí to theorize translation (and its prerequisite, multilingualism) as a weapon for counteracting a complex of racial and imperial discourses about his América."

What it led Martí to do was to sacrifice his life (see his final letter to Mercado). Nothing could be more ridiculous than to suggest that "to theorize translation (and its prerequisite, multilingualism)" was the culmination of Martí's "history of dislocation" and the "weapon [slingshot?] for counteracting a complex of racial and imperialist discourses about his América." As a would-be translation theorist herself, it is perhaps not surprising and to some degree excusable that Lomas would seek to enlarge that minor aspect of Martí's literary legacy; but to place it center stage and make Martí's entire life the prelude to it is nothing but self-serving. Despite her frenzied efforts (and because of them) no one in the future will ever "privilege" Martí as the "Heroic Translator."

p. 17 "[Martí's] defense of mother-tongue maintenance parallels his stalwart endorsement of self-government according to the unique cultural situation in the region."

Any author that would coin such an abomination as "mother-tongue maintenance" and does not have Helen Keller's excuse should take to heart and follow the maxim (slightly altered here) that they also serve who only stand and teach. Forget about "publish or die." Some academics will teach longer the less they publish.

As for Martí's "stalwart endorsement of self-government," it was never contingent, as Lomas suggests, "on the unique cultural situation in the region." This implies that the absence of self-government (such as in Cuba) could be explained or even excused by "its unique cultural situation" -- that is, a culture of tyranny, which is indeed "unique" in the region, though not without would-be imitators. I pointed out in Part 3 of my review of Translating Empire that Lomas is obsessed with the culture of the volk as the defining principle of government and source of its legitimacy, which is a position that Martí never held. Democracy, not caciquism, was Martí's programme for Cuba. To admit that fact discredits "Cuba's current government," and Lomas never does. Carried to its logical (or illogical) conclusion Lomas' (not Martí's) theory of self-government would legitimize the ancient Aztec practice of infant sacrifice, which is at the very heart (no pun intended) of Mexico's auctonomous culture, and explain the results of Sunday's presidential elections on the basis of it.

p. 17 "In light of Martí's utopian desire to build a print community of Spanish speakers that extended across national borders [...]."

This is the second time (see main review) that Lomas refers to Martí's ideas as "utopian" (and it won't be the last). But what is so "utopian" about "build[ing] a print community of Spanish readers that extended across national borders?" Martí did precisely that many times. His crónicas were reprinted throughout Latin American (often without his permission) and made Martí the region's first internationally syndicated columnist.  La Edad de Oro circulated throughout the Hispanic world. Indeed, Martí's contemporary fame as a writer was not so much national (his writings were rarely published in Cuba) as international.

p. 18 "This brief article celebrates a fellow Cuban translator, Gabriel [de] Zéndegui, who taught literature in the United States during a period of twenty years."

Gabriel de Zéndegui did not teach "literature in the United States for a period of twenty years." In 1882, he consulted Martí about relocating to the U.S., and did so briefly (1885-1888) before settling in Argentina. La Nacíón, probably with Martí's recommendation, appointed him its foreign correspondent in London, which position he exercised for 14 years. Upon the inauguration of the Cuban Republic, in 1902, Zéndegui was named Secretary of the Legation there. He resided continuously in England from 1888 until his death in 1922.

p. 18 "Martí lived in New York in the wake of a failed Reconstruction that witnessed the rise of lynch law and Jim Crow, the Asian [sic] Exclusion Acts, and massacres or military subjection of native peoples."

It's the "Chinese [not 'Asian'] Exclusion Act" [singular], signed by President Chester Arthur in 1882. No other exclusion acts were enacted in Martí's lifetime. (The Immigration Act of 1924 excluded for the first time other Asians besides the Chinese).

Too bad that the current sufferings of Cubans under military subjection (which include lynch law, Jim Crow, massacres and exclusion acts) are of too recent vintage to merit Lomas' attention much less condemnation. We do not doubt (how could anyone doubt it?) that these outrages would meet with Martí's disapproval, however.

p. 19 "En Arkansas se unieron texanos y arkanseños, y mujeres y hombres, y quemaron contra un pino a un negro untado de petróleo."

         "In Arkansas, Texans and Arkansinos, women and men, came together and burned at the stake of a tree a black man covered with tar." [Lomas' translation]

In the translation of this one sentence Lomas manages to confute burning at a stake with tar and feathering, and tar with gasoline. Tar and feathering, which involves the application of tar to the skin and then feathers, though undoubtedly painful and humiliating, was rarely fatal. Burning at the stake always was. The black man in Arkansas who was tied, probably with chains, to a pine tree and set on fire, was not "covered with tar" but with gasoline, which is the correct translation for Martí's "petróleo" in American English. Tar in Spanish is alquitrán or brea, which Martí does not use (and which the white mob wouldn't have used either because tar is not as combustible as gasoline). Martí knows the difference between tar and gasoline, Lomas obviously does not, and transfers her ignorance to Martí in her translation. In the process, she diminishes the horrific act depicted by Martí with the introduction of extraneous words ("stake" and "tar") and awkward phrases not in the original ("the stake of a tree") which are intended to "refine" Martí's prose but only succeed in redefining (and corrupting) his meaning. She also does not identify the tree as a pine, which, supposedly, could supply her superfluous tar. We suspect that Lomas replaced gasoline with tar because she thought Martí's use of "gasoline" was an anachronism. In fact, gasoline is a naturally occurring by-product of petroleum (and hence did not have to be "invented") and it was in commercial production long before it was used as a fuel in automobiles. The word itself dates to1865.

p. 20 "No longer a pure, homogeneous essence or a biological or genetic principal [sic], the logic of diaspora opens the social formation of diaspora to a range of languages and cultural practices."

Yes, this is nonsense, complete and utter nonsense: not only doesn't it mean anything, it is also ungrammatical. As has been noted previously, Lomas, an assistant professor of English at Rutgers, doesn't know the difference between "principle" and "principal" and uses them interchangeably in Translating Empire. In the four years since her book was published, she has apparently remained clueless. How this is possible for a supposedly bilingual speaker we are hard-pressed to explain since "principal" is not only spelt the same but has the identical meaning in both Spanish and English. A monolingual English speaker might have difficulty distinguishing between "principle" and "principal" (it is a common error). But how can someone who knows Spanish make such an error in English? In the next paragraph, Lomas uses "principle" correctly ("a principle of hospitality"). Like Aunt Ri's quilt in Ramona, "it's called her 'hit-er-miss' pattren," though with Lomas, unlike Aunt Ri, it's "miss" oftener than its "hit."

p. 21 "Giving the lie to claims about equal opportunity and myths of justice for all in the United States, this use of translation as thinking-across reveals the possible terrors that posed a bodily threat specifically to a heterogeneous, racialized or non-standard-English-speaking group, living in the North."

Lomas does not specify who is "giving the lie to claims about equal opportunity and myths of justice for all in the United States." But since the article is about Martí and his use of translation, we must presume that she means Martí. Isn't it interesting how Martí spoke in the 19th century in the same terms ("equal opportunity" and "justice for all") as we do today? It would be interesting if he had, but he didn't. This is not to say that Martí did not decry racism and injustice. He did, wherever he found them, and he did not only find them in the United States. Ironically, it was only in the United States that Martí found "equal opportunity" and "justice for all" for himself -- not in Cuba, not in Spain, not in Mexico, not in Guatemala, not in Venezuela; nowhere but in the "other America."

p. 21 "Translation as thinking-across [...] promotes inclusiveness across differently racialized ethnic groups in the "hybrid" and "mestizo" imagined community of Martí's America."

Martí did not have to "imagine" Our America to be "hybrid" and "mestizo" because it was (and is) hybrid and mestizo. What he never imagined, however, is that some day the "Other America" would also become hybrid and mestizo. (Please note that Lomas is afraid to use those words except with quotations marks, as if the existence of hundreds of millions of people could be put in doubt by affixing them).

p. 23 "Martí practiced and endorsed a radical nationalist politics throughout his life, a discourse that can become complicit in reinforcing cultural conformity and ethnolinguistic intolerance of difference."

Out of the blue, without presenting any evidence to support her contention, Lomas accuses Martí of being potentially "complicit in reinforcing cultural conformity and ethnolinguistic intolerance of difference." Let us suppose that she is right (while bearing in mind that she never is). Shouldn't a people be allowed to evolve its own culture and is it "intolerant" to prefer one's culture to all others? Conformity is not tyranny unless it is enforced at the point of a gun (as in Castro's Cuba). Nor are all differences to be applauded and embraced -- that doesn't multiply choice, but, rather, eliminates it. And that, too, is tyranny.

p. 26. "[Martí] concurs with [Ernest Renan] that nations are social constructions, and that modern humanity will eventually be undivided by the barriers of nationality and free from threats of aggression. However, [...] this utopian view already appeared hollow, with imperialism stalking the more vulnerable parts of the world in the nineteenth century."

This is the third time that Lomas characterizes Martí's views as "utopian." The more humane and idealistic that Martí is, the more "utopian" he seems to Lomas. I do not personally share this "one world" view of the future. I neither believe it possible nor desire it. But I admire those who can and do. It is to me proof of a belief -- almost religious in nature -- in the perfectivity of man and inevitability of justice. We would expect Martí to espouse such a view. This is the Martí that we know and love: the "Universal Cuban." Because I admire him, I do not discount the possibility that he might be right any more than I would dismiss the likelihood that Jesus Christ is right. "Utopians" are ineffectual men, which defines neither Martí nor Christ.

p. 28 endnote 3 "Gabriel García Márquez revindicates underpaid translators and acknowledges his preference for some passages of Gregory Rabassa's translations of his work into English over the original in 'Los pobres traductores.'"

I repeat it only because it is to the credit of a fellow Cuban: García Márquez actually said that he prefers Gregory Rabassa's English translation of One Hundred Years of Solitude to the original. This is very high praise indeed even from a cretinous apologist for Fidel Castro.

p. 29 endnote 6 "Martí refers to his attempt to translate Hamlet, and notes in his fragmentary writings that he couldn't get pass the scene of [the] 'sepulteros,' a probable [emphasis mine] reference to Act V, scene i, when two gravediggers pull out Yorick's skull as they prepare Ophelia's grave (Martí, Obras Completas, 22:283)."

Probable? How many other "sepultero" scenes are there in Hamlet?

p. 29 endnote 9 "In 1896, Appleton published a twelve edition of [Martí's translation of Hugh Conway's novel Called Back], available in the New York Public Library."

I own the twenty-third edition, published by D. Appleton and Company, in 1908. Very successful indeed.

p. 30 endnote 14 "Martí encouraged second-language learning as a means of self-defense in a night school on 63rd Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues run by Federico Edelman:

"Hombre que no conoce la lengua del país en que vive, es hombre desarmado. Bien harían en pasar las noches desocupadas en la clase de Edelman los cubanos que se sientan como desvalidos, por no hablar la lengua rubia, en esta tierra que tiene en poco a los que no le contestan en su idioma preciso y áspero" (Patria, 9 [de] marzo 1894).

"A man who does not know the language of the country in which he lives, is an unarmed [disarmed] man. Cubans who feel defenseless [helpless] for not knowing the high-toned [blonde] language in [of] this land where one is belittled [held in little regard] for not answering in their [its] necessary [precise] and rough [brusque] language, do well to spend their free evenings in Edelman's class."
[Lomas' translation with intercalated corrections].

This translation is deficient on many grounds. A foreigner feels disarmed because he does not speak English, not "unarmed." He could learn English, as Martí suggests that he should do, and then no longer be disarmed. If, as Lomas translates, he were "unarmed" -- that is, without the aptitude or the means to learn -- it would be impossible for him to overcome that limitation or profit from Martí's practical advice. Cubans, Martí writes, feel "desvalidos" (helpless) because they don't speak English; this is not the same as feeling "defenseless," which implies that they are under attack. Nor does Martí say that they are "belittled" because they don't know the "blonde language" (which Lomas somehow manages to translate as "high-toned language"); but, rather, the U.S. "[los] tiene en poco," that is, holds them in little regard because of it. Once they can answer natives in their own "precise and brusque language" they will no longer be considered of little account because the U.S. is a democratic and classless society where immigrants do not face insurmountable obstacles to integration and success. Martí certainly does not consider learning English to be an insurmountable obstacle (as proponents of bilingual education do today). What Lomas construes as "a revealing comment about discrimination faced by non-English speakers" is in fact Martí's summons to his exiled countrymen to avail themselves of the opportunities afforded them to realize their full potential in American society.

Not only does Lomas tendentiously mistranslate Martí here, but she has no idea whatever of the context of this particular quotation because of her less than serviceable knowledge of Martí's biography. She is unaware that Federico Edelman's night school class was held at a public school under the auspices of the New York City Board of Education. What Martí endorsed was a government-sponsored and taxpayer-supported program to assist newcomers with language acquisition which disproves by its very existence Lomas' (not Martí's) contention that non-English speaking immigrants were under siege, "unarmed" and "defenseless," in a hostile America.

Moreover, Lomas incorrectly surmises that the "school on 63rd Street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues [was] run by Federico Edelman," which it was not. Edelman only taught an English class there, as Martí clearly states in the paragraph cited by Lomas. But this is not the worst of it: Lomas is apparently unaware that Martí himself had only recently been a teacher at that very building known as Central Valley Evening School, located in the premises of Grammar School No. 74, at 220 East 63rd St. Martí had been hired as "Instructor of Spanish" there in January 1891, and his appointment was renewed for 1892 and 1893, though he presented his resignation at the end of 1892. Lomas quotes Martí's praise for Edelman's interlingual approach to teaching English through Spanish. This is all very well, of course. She could, however, have quoted Martí's own summary of his approach to language instruction, which is contained in a "Synopsis of Methods of Instruction in the Various Branches of Studied Pursued" at Central Evening High School: "The instructor in Spanish [Martí] reports that his aim has been, 'to teach strict grammar without appearing to teach it.' The language was taught by pronunciation, orthography, dictating nightly different forms of sentences to the students, and then more elaborately as they showed signs of progress. The relation of Spanish moods to those of other languages was fully set forth. Commercial letters and short descriptions were written by the students, and corrected by the teacher from time to time. Constant use of the black-board familiarized the minds of the students with the ideas imparted by the instructor."  [Journal of the Board of Education of the City of New York, New York, 1891, pp. 690-692].

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Laura Lomas Continues to Defame José Martí

As readers of JMB know, I have already devoted three lengthy posts [Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ] to reviewing Laura Lomas' Translating Empire: José Martí, Migrant Latino Subjects, and American Modernities. The experience was not pleasurable for me and cannot have been pleasurable for even my most indulgent readers. But it was necessary, and, indeed, unavoidable. The misrepresentations of Martí's life and work contained in this volume could not be overlooked, nor the author's conscription of Martí into the service of "Cuba's current government" (as I've already remarked, as "current" as 1959). Does this mean, however, that I am obliged henceforth to review all her writings on Martí and point out what is wrong with them? Yes, I'm afraid it does, at least until she stops writing about Martí or desists from distorting Martí's writings. It is just as important to expose false lights as it is to keep the beacon burning.

Lomas' latest screed was published in Translation Review 84 (Spring 2011), the journal of the American Society of Literary Translators. I am unaware that Lomas has ever translated anything in her life except snippets of Martí's writings culled from Esther Allen's Selected Writings and "worked over" to Lomas' satisfaction (that is, until they say what Lomas wants them to say). Not being a translator, however, is no disqualification for writing on translation theory. A study in English of Martí's ideas about translation would be a welcome addition to the literature. It would not be difficult to write such a study. By faithfully copying what Martí says about translation even Lomas might manage it. Unfortunately, neither Translating Empire nor her latest journal article come close to being such a study. Knowing, as we already do, that propaganda and not scholarship is her object, there is no reason to expect Lomas to impart knowledge for its own sake when it doesn't advance her political agenda.

As I've pointed out before, Lomas is constitutionally incapable of devising a cogent title, and what is labelled incorrectly can never be wholly trusted. She came closest with the original title of her doctoral dissertation, "American Alterities: Reading between Borders in José Martí's 'North American Scenes,'" which except for the "Alterities" was almost a catchy title. This later transmogrified into the wholly unintelligible Translating Empire: José Martí, Migrant Latino Subjects, and American Modernities. In Translation Review, Lomas delivers herself of: "Thinking Across, Infiltration, and Transculturation: José Martí's Theory and Practice of Post-Colonial Translation." If she would only discard what's left of the semi-colon, she would make more sense, though the "Post-Colonial" part is debatable and only her extremist politics would lose by its omission. Martí did not live to see the post-colonial era, which was a blessing for Martí and a calamity for Cuba. If Lomas means that he anticipated it, she should say that and explain how. Because Martí thinks and writes outside the constructs of colonialism does not mean that he was a "post colonial translat[or]" or a post-colonial anything.

Most of Martí's contemporaries and many of his predecessors also exhibit in their writings the same total rejection of colonial preconceptions which characterizes Martí's own thinking. How far, then, are we to set this "post-colonial" tendency within the colonial era? Certainly as far back as Félix Varela and more than 70 years before Martí's death at Dos Ríos. But rejecting any personal investment in colonialism, or even undermining its political foundations, is not the same thing as defeating it, and colonialism must be defeated for good and all before the post-colonial era, or, specifically, post-colonial conditions, can shape what is properly called post-colonial writing (or translation). No Cuban, not even Martí, predicted what post-colonial Cuba would be like. Such prevision, incidentally, would probably have killed the independence movement in its cradle. Resignation to quasi-colonialism as the successor regime to colonialism may be cultivated after the fact but it can never be the goal of any revolution and was not the goal of Martí's revolution. This post-1898 colonial reality was never envisioned by Martí, nor is any period in Cuban history more at odds with his conception of a republic (with the exception, of course, of our own). The abrogation of the Platt Amendment in 1934 was the real culmination of Martí's Revolution, and of that he was certainly the "Intellectual Author."

I have detected one important break — and too many inconsistencies to cite — between this article and Lomas' book. In Translating Empire, Lomas forcefully (and foolishly) denied that Martí was an exile, arguing instead that he was a "migrant," though Martí always described himself as an exile and never once as a "migrant" or "immigrant." Here, however, she departs without excuses from one of the principal underpinnings of her book. She still alludes to Martí's "migration" and his "migratory position in New York," as well as to his "migrant's perspective;" but, at the same time, she refers to Martí as "a deportee in exile" and comments on his "exilic situation in New York." It is Lomas who has posited that you can't have it both ways. Nevertheless, sometimes both ways are not enough for her, as she also alludes to Martí's "extra-domestic or diasporic location." Perhaps it's just a case of elegant variation gone amok; but one who places such importance, as Lomas does, on differentiating these terms, should not use them interchangeably. Even foolishness must be consistent if it is to be taken seriously.

I am not going to discuss Lomas' theory of Martí's theory of "post-colonial translation" since the object of her theorizing does not exist. Suffice it to say that it is as convoluted, and, ultimately, as meaningless as any other of her theoretical constructs. But lest it should be thought that I am dismissing her ideas without a hearing, here is her conclusion: "Martí's theory and practice of translation, transferring texts from a dominant to an imperial-turned-minority language, as a non-assimilating migrant in the United States, generatively open concepts of the nation, of race, and of transnational formations such as diaspora to redefine them in terms of ethnic and linguistic heterogeneity." Here, as elsewhere in her writings, language is used to conceal rather than to reveal her meaning, or, perhaps more likely, to disguise the absence of any meaning. If there ever was one it was lost in a maze of subordinate clauses winding their way to a dead end. It is like reading German with its periodic sentences cruelly shorn of their far-ranging verbs. Lomas knows the mechanics of a periodic sentence up to and short of a point, but cannot bring the sentence to a successful conclusion precisely because she has no point to make about translation as translation.

She has much to say, however, about translation as something other than translation: "Language becomes the site where a Latino American cultural critic such as Martí uses translation to problematize U.S. nationalism's inability to recognize the rights of minorities — racialized by their language or ethnic difference — in the nation, or to respect the sovereignty of 'minor' nations in its imperial backyard." This is one of the few Lomasian sentences that can itself be translated into standard English: Martí uses language, or, specifically, translation, to address the problem posed by the inability of a nationalist United States to recognize the rights of minorities because of language and ethnic differences, or to respect the sovereignty of less powerful nations in its imperial backyard. Now this makes sense. The thought expressed by Lomas is just as hopelessly trite and even banal; but now it can be understood in all its triteness and banality. Before, mired in language that attempted to elevate triteness by raising its vocabulary, it sounded self-important without being important. Bereft of its rhetorical strait-jacket, the idea, though it has no wings, is at least honestly pedestrian. The author herself could do worse than to be honestly pedestrian. Her contribution to Martí studies (such as it is) would not be diminished because of it.

Lomas' politics are easier to follow than her theoretical formulas or attempts at deconstruction because here, at least, dissembling does not suit her purposes: she can be as anti-American (or, as she would say, anti-United Statesian) as she would like Martí to be and credit him with all her fashionable prejudices. To wit: "Martí sought to counteract an unrealistically hopeful view of the United States that might lead his compatriots to identify with a North American culture and political model." Yes, Martí always sought to "counteract"  unrealistic estimates of the United States (or of any other country) because they distorted reality; but he never denied the reality, which would have been to distort it himself. Martí embraced and engaged U.S. culture as no other foreign intellectual before or since, and he adopted its political model as his own, as is evident in the democratic structure of the Cuban Revolutionary Party and of the future Cuban Republic which he envisioned in the Manifesto de Montecristi. Instead of goading his fellow Cubans to reject "North American culture and [its] political model," Martí identified what was best about them and encouraged their emulation while warning of deviations and distortions (to that model) that should be avoided, not only by his countrymen but by Americans themselves, whose democratic evolution and progress were also important to him (as attested to in thousands of his pages). It is better, in any case, to have "an unrealistically hopeful view" of U.S. democracy than "an unrealistically hopeful view" of Castroite tyranny, which is Lomas' problem.

When Cuban Communists (or any Communists) assail the United States, it is always its government, never its people. Lomas herself has no such scruples: her disdain is sufficient to cover not only the U.S. government and all aspects of American society, but also and particularly its people; and she would have us believe that Martí shared the same animus toward Americans that she admittedly does. She faults Martí, however, for  "express[ing] a utopian view that with more knowledge, the average U.S. citizen-subject might unlearn imperial privilege and radically change his or her attitudes towards his América and people, here and abroad." In fact, Martí would have rejected (and did reject) any suggestion that Americans were inherently predisposed to imperialism or racism, or that such was their irrevocable destiny. It is such assumptions, which are based on racist generalizations and a sense of privilege founded on a paradigm of eternal victimhood, that Martí combatted all his life and his writings still challenge. For Lomas' information, the American people overwhelmingly supported the cause of Cuban independence in 1850, 1868 and 1895. It was successive U.S. administrations which flaunted American public opinion until 1898 when the "Free Cuba" movement was too powerful to be denied. Today also, and for the last 53 years, Americans have opposed the Castro regime and its subjugation of the Cuban people (with few exceptions such as Lomas herself). Now as in the 19th century, U.S. betrayals — and there have been many — were the handiwork of the imperial presidency, not of "the average U.S. citizen-subject," as Lomas calls the freest man in the world.

Where did Lomas pick up the idea that Martí wanted to reform Americans by purging them of their sense of "imperial privilege," which enterprise Lomas considers impossibly "utopian" because her fellow Americans are, in her estimation, inveterate imperialists beyond all reclamation as well as perennial bad neighbors? Lomas herself answers the question: "Martí is not alone in this optimism: one of his greatest interpreters, Cuban statesman, poet and literary critic Roberto Fernández Retamar, noted that "[t]he U.S. was neither born a monster, nor will it remain so forever." If Lomas had praised Fernández Retamar as a poet or critic — leaving aside politics as if this were possible in so politicized (comprometido) a writer — we would not care about her valuation of him. But how exactly can one be a "statesman" in the service of a dictatorship? When statecraft is reduced to sycophancy the statesman is only a more successful courtesan, and in the same measure as his talents are great so will his abject submission be blameworthy. How can Fernández Retamar be "one of [Martí's] greatest interpreters" when he doesn't even understand that being an apologist for tyranny contravenes all that Martí did or said in his life? One can be many things and still be a martiano; but an apologist for tyranny — and an unrepentant one at that — never. Praising Fernández Retamar in such terms pretty much says all there is to say about Lomas' critical and moral faculty while putting her in league with other "interpreters" who debase themselves by debasing Martí.

Lomas subscribes to the liberal conceit that true patriotism consists of hating one's country, whether that country is the U.S., whose democracy she bashes continually, or Cuba, whose dictatorship she extolls at every opportunity. Worst of all, she is obviously convinced that evil will triumph in Cuba forever, and that it will always be fashionable and renumerative to be an apologist for tyranny. She is wrong. But she is also so insignificant that it will matter to no one that she was wrong.

[I owe my readers a rest. But I am not finished with this review and shall return to point out its factual errors in Part 2].