In March of 1962 I came to this country as part of the Pedro Pan airlift. Many people don’t know about the airlift, but more than fourteen thousand Cuban children were sent to the U.S. from Cuba, alone, because their parents feared they would be indoctrinated into Communism.
Our exile was a silent one, devoid of dramatic pictures of mothers handing their little ones to American soldiers getting ready to board helicopters, but it was no less heart wrenching. Some children were able to reunite with their parents when they were eventually allowed to leave Cuba. Some never saw their parents again.
It has been a half a century since my girlhood was interrupted by revolution and exile. I have been absorbed into the American mainstream and made a life for myself. But despite my integration into this society, that Cuban girl still lives and Cuba still hurts.
I hope to share with you some of the stories of my past and my present and hope that through this blog you will see the old Cuba, the Cuba before it was shattered by a Revolution that promised justice and free elections but offered instead repression and a dictator that has ruled for the last fifty years without free elections. I will talk about that and about exile, about being a Pedro Pan, about my experiences in this country, and about my very improbable collaboration with a nephew of Ché Guevara on his own memoir, The Haunting of Martín Guevara. I hope you will join me on this journey.