Child of the Revolution, Interview with the Author

I recently posted an article about Luis Garcia, the Cuban-Australian author of the forthcoming book Child of the Revolution. I subsequently contacted him and he was kind enough to answer my numerous questions via email.

HG: Why did your parents take you to Australia? It's obviously the furthest place from Cuba, culturally and geographically.

LG: We ended up in Australia – en el otro lado del mundo, as my mother says – by sheer accident. We arrived in Spain in 1971 with the intention of travelling on to New York to join my aunt and her family. But then we discovered that this was easier said than done – there was a wait of at least two years. So, a friend of my father suggested this other, great land of opportunity: Australia. It took my father months to convince my mother but eventually she relented and so we arrived here in early 1972. That’s a whole separate story, let me tell you. When we arrived in Sydney, we knew no one, couldn’t speak English, and had no idea what awaited us. Crazy, I know.

HG: How is your story different than Carlos Eire's which he documented in his excellent book Waiting for Snow in Havana? How is your story similar?

There are some similarities between Child of the Revolution and Waiting for Snow in Havana (by the way, what a great title), in that both look at a period in Cuban history through the eyes of a child. The key difference is time. I was born in July 1959, so I have no memories at all of Cuba before Castro.

HG: Many of Fidel's biggest detractors today were once on board with the revolution. In that sense it was a popular Revolution at the time, many people fought to rid Cuba of the Batista dictatorship only to begin a new fight against the Castro dictatorship. Where did your family fit in to all of this? Was your father political? Your press materials mention that your father was forced to go to a labor camp. What were the reasons given?

LG: My parents were not involved in politics but like many Cubans, they were generally supportive of the Revolution and its aims in the beginning. Like everyone else, they assumed that Castro would keep his word and hold elections within 12 or 18 months.

Some of my extended family, however, were involved in the process. One of my uncles was a barbudo in the Sierra Maestra, while others were working for the underground in Oriente province against Batista.

My father was sent to the labour camp (there is no better term for these places) in mid 1968, as soon as it became known that we’d applied to leave Cuba. As you know, this happened to all gusanos back then. He spent the next three years cutting sugarcane, a terrible time for the entire family but especially for him. He never complains about it. I admire that.

HG: How has growing up as a teenager and young adult in Australia transformed you?

LG: I would like to think I have taken on board much of what is good about a place like Australia – its sense of egalitarianism, an ability to laugh at yourself and not take things too seriously, loyalty to your mates, a fondness for beer...

HG: I know of other Cuban families living in Australia, but I can't imagine there are too many. Is there any social club or group of Cuban-Australians in Sydney or in other cities in the country?

LG: You are right there, my friend. There are probably about 100 or so Cuban families in Australia. Most came at about that time – early 1970s – and most live in Sydney and yes, we all know each other. It’s like extended family – with all that entails!

There is no social club as such but somehow, los viejos in particular tend to get together at least once a month and do what you’d expect Cubans to do: play domino, listen to Celia Cruz, argue about politics and make tremendo escandalo!

HG: Where do you go when you get the urge for un cortadito, or una medianoche?

LG: Un cortadito: at home. Una medianoche: Miami.

HG: Do you speak English with an Australian accent?

LG: Strewth, cobber. What do you reckon?

HG: You work for a corporate communications company. How did you end up in that career?

LG: I started my journalistic career in 1981, after graduating from The University of Sydney. Journalism was what I always wanted to do. I started with The Australian Financial Review, which is a financial daily – a Down Under version of The Wall Street Journal. From there, I moved to The Sydney Morning Herald (SMH), which is Australia’s oldest daily and similar in history and approach to papers such as The New York Times.

I was at the SMH for about 15 years with stints in between as a political adviser, including time as Chief of Staff to a senior minister.

Working in corporate communications brings together my experience in both areas, I guess. It’s good fun.

HG: You were a journalist previously, what is your evaluation of the way Cuba is covered (or not covered) in the media?

LG: The Australian media, like their counterparts in the US and elsewhere, has a very schizophrenic approach to Cuba. Plenty of stories about the “colourful” crumbling colonial buildings in Havana (blamed on the American embargo, of course), and about Castro’s terrific health system, etc, etc. Then there will be a story about the lack of basic human rights in Cuba, and speculation about what will happen when Castro dies… All in the same paper, sometimes in the same week. I guess it’s their idea of being fair?

But overall, with some notable exceptions, the coverage goes easy on Castro.

HG: How much of the sympathy much of the world has for castro do you think is a direct result of anti-Americanism?

LG: I think 95 to 99 per cent.

HG: In a recent interview with the Sunday Telegraph, you mentioned the popularity of Che Guevara among young people. Do you think they see him as a symbol of anti-establishment? anti-Americanism? pro-communist? Anarchist?

LG: I think some see Che Guevara as some sort of revolutionary, anti-US hero from long, long ago. But I think most see Che Guevara from a purely consumerist point of view. You know, a “cool”, iconic brand. No different to Nike or iPod...

HG: How long did the book take to write? You mentioned that you're happy to have completed it. Why was it difficult? What were the most painful recollections to put down on paper?

LG: Sometimes, I think I started writing this book the day left Cuba. I know Cubans would understand what I mean... But I got serious about it a couple of years ago when I overheard my daughter, who is now 19, speaking to her grandfather - in a combination of Spanish and English - about Cuba and those first few years after Castro came to power. I thought, there is something here I’d like to leave behind for my own kids.

It was a difficult enterprise in the sense that some of the recollections were painful – and there were aspects of what I remember that only surfaced when I started putting pen to paper. A friend who knows me well says it was a cathartic experience which is a wanky term for trying to come to terms with your past, I think. I am still glad I wrote it.

HG: What were the challenges as a writer, writing about events that occurred when you were a child?

LG: I have attempted to write a book that is a faithful retelling of memories that have endured with surprising clarity over all this time. As far as possible, I attempted to confirm what I recall with my parents and other members of my extended family – most of whom are now living outside Cuba. They were very helpful.

But it’s a story based on what I remember. It’s my interpretation. So, some of the events I describe in the book may be remembered differently by others. It doesn’t mean I am right and they are wrong, of course.

HG: You have mentioned the indoctrination that you were subjected to in school as a child. How did your parents handle that? Did they try to counter the propaganda? Did they tell you not to repeat (at school) certain things they told you at home?

LG: In some ways, that is what the book is about – a battle between Castro and my parents for the mind of an 11 year old. I would be taught something at school, get home, tell my parents what I had been told and they’d shake their heads and say something like, No, niño, no... Mira… and on they went. Of course, the pressure to conform, to belong was enormous. In fact, I think I only became convinced that my parents were right and Castro was wrong after I left Cuba. It was amazing – as if this thick fog had suddenly been lifted.

And yes, you are right: It was always a case of, Niño, ten cuidado con lo que dices, por Dios!

Of course, the experiences I recount in the book are not unique. More than a million other Cubans have left the island since Castro came to power and most had to go through the same hardships and humiliations my parents had to go through to get out.

HG: Tell me something about Australia that most Americans wouldn't know or would be surprised to learn.

LG: Where to start? Australia is a great place to live. We have never regretted ending up in Australia, even though my parents had a tough time at first with no friends, no family and no English. And no café cubano!

Australians are very open-hearted, and they have this endearing habit of always downplaying their achievements. It’s called the “tall poppy syndrome”. It means you don’t advertise your success. You don’t let it go to your head. And you treat everyone equally even though, quite clearly, they are not. It’s the sort of place where the Prime Minister always (and I mean always) travels in the front passenger seat of his official car, next to the driver. Never in the back seat...

One other thing: Australians love this weird concoction called Vegemite, which is a black, salty spread you put on your toast. Like guayaba without the flavour. I hate it. My Aussie-born kids love it. Que enredo...

* * *Child of the Revolution will be officially released tomorrow (June 2nd) in Australia. The official web site for the book is here. And you can also purchase the book here. Prices are listed in Australian dollars which are about 75 cents US.

Posted by Henry Louis Gomez at June 1, 2006 09:35 AM

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