February 02, 2009
Dusty Bones

There is something to be said about the thrill involved in discovering one’s roots.
A few years ago I had the pleasure of accompanying a young man who had arrived in Havana on just such an expedition. The story of Alberto’s family was similar to those of many other Cuban families in the first five years after the revolution. The family business had been confiscated, several loved ones had been murdered by the regime and the balance had been left on the verge of destitution. Running out of options, the family fled into exile, never to touch Cuban soil again – until Alberto – a 30 year-old man who had never set foot in the land of his family – returned.
“I knew I had to see my grandfather’s grave. I knew it would be my first stop after meeting my aunt and uncle outside Havana.” And so it was that he found himself resting atop the cool marble tomb of his antecedents, taking a rubbing from the ornate carvings adorning the four-person grave. It was only by chance that he realized he had arrived at Cementerio Colon on exactly the 45th anniversary of his grandfather’s burial. Had he been at that same spot exactly four-and-a-half decades earlier, he would have taken sight of an awkward scene, for there before the marble angels and bronze vault handles, stood the national defense secretaries of both the Castro and Batista regimes. Both men had set aside their differences for the burial of a man who was at that time – known by many. Today of course, his name has long-since vanished into memory, only recovred briefly by the pencil and paper brought by a young grandson struggling to understand who he was.
Posted by Anatasio Blanco at February 2, 2009 02:47 PM
Comments
What a sad story-made me cry. Thanks for sharing. :)
I wonder who the grandfather was?
Posted by: SunriseInHavana
at February 2, 2009 06:00 PM
I've got lots of these little stories told through photographs and documents that I've taken throughout the course of my work on the island. From time-to-time I plan on putting up a photo here and there with a few short paragraphs.
The story of Alberto's family is typical in that - even though his was a family of wealth - they suffered the same sort of injustices that everyone else did. Personally, I don't see any difference when these things happen to individuals with money as opposed to those of more humble backgrounds. People are people and both money and power are, in the end, meaningless.
