For twelve years I lived in Catholic boarding schools. My feminine role models from ages six to eighteen were the nuns. Watching, experiencing, and admiring their commitment, dedication, and generosity, as well as their spirit of sacrifice, was part of my daily routines. In addition, I grew up listening to the words vocation, consecrated life, and religious life. Throughout the secondary education, I participated in spiritual retreats, many of them following St. Ignatius of Loyola’s spiritual exercises principles. Let me take a few minutes to explain the impact of those retreats on my life.
The best definition of those spiritual retreat experiences can be found in Webster’s Dictionary. It defines retreat as “a period of retirement or seclusion, especially one devoted to religious contemplation away from the pressures of ordinary life.” An important piece in all these spiritual experiences following the Jesuit method was to find what was God’s plan for our lives, what was our calling, our vocation, para qué, por qué y cómo (the for what, the why, and the how of my existence in life). Every year I listened and meditated to St. Ignatius’ words: “It is My will to conquer all the world and all enemies and so to enter into the glory of My Father; therefore, whoever would like to come with Me is to labor with Me, that following Me in the pain, he may also follow Me in the glory.” During the last two years in school more than one teacher, or nun, or even peer asked and/or talked to me about “becoming a nun”. I remember giving time to meditate in the idea and although I never totally rejected it I didn’t accept it as a possibility.
In the early hours of January 1, 1959, the destiny of my country entered a period of total crisis and change with the flight out of Cuba of its president, Fulgencio Batista, and the arrival of Fidel Castro and his Marxist-Leninist revolution. It was a radical change in many areas of our lives, but also it was a progressive change in the values, customs, habits, and ways of thinking, relating, and being of the Cuban population. I don’t know any person who was able to anticipate the magnitude of what was going to happen after that day. I don’t want to give the impression that there was not hope for a positive change. Almost all Cubans rejected the dictatorship status of the island after Batista’s coup d’état on March 10, 1053. For sure all Cubans, no matter what their political inclinations were, felt relief with the idea of the end of internal persecution and war struggle. All Cubans were looking to a better future and when people like my father said, “This is communism, I smell it,” we didn’t believe him because, “Qué vá … los cubanos aguantan todo menos comunismo.” (No way, the Cubans will never support communism.) Those with good memory for history will remember previous interventions of the American government and will add, “The Americans are not going to allow communism at ninety miles.” It was just a matter of being patient. Even more, “The worse the things become, the better will be … Soon the intervention will come.”
One of the first measures that affected my life was the resolution that all the degrees and grades obtained in private universities by niños bien (for those who had means to) while the public universities were closed became invalidated. From one day to the other, the grades obtained at St. Tomas of Villanueva University became “wet paper” with no value whatsoever in Cuba.
Toward the last week of January, I went to look for a job and I found one as seller in the department of Perfumería at La Epoca department store. It was a good experience that allowed me to meet many people. For example, in July 1959, when the city of Habana was preparing its first carnival after the revolution, I was invited to be part of one carroza representing one of the municipalities of the province of Habana. I accepted, and our carroza got the third prize. Although I liked my work in La Epoca, I wanted something better, thus toward the end of 1959 I applied for a position as receptionist at one accounting firm and got the job.
In the meantime, the Catholic bishops as a group and individually began to write declarations (“Pastorales”) calling the attention of the parishioners and of the government to unpopular “revolutionary” measures being taken. Among them, the “interventions” of private business, the so-called “summary trials” that were real pantomimes of justice done against the so-called enemigos de la Patria, the infamous fusilamientos, the imprisonments of everyone who was accused of not being in agreement with the government, the coletillas (comments) done by the new supervisors of the newspapers to the different articles published, and so on. The department of catechism of the Archdiocese of La Habana launched a campaign with the slogan “Este niño sera creyente o ateo.” (This child will be faithful or atheist.) The campaign brought out and gave voice to part of the fears that the Cubans began to feel.
There were many rumors, many changes, many comparisons between this revolution and other situations experienced by our parents, relatives, or friends. No doubt it was a real “revolution” in all areas of the Cuban life. The pillars of the democracy reflected in the constitution of the year 1940 were turned down one after another: “Elecciones, para qué” (Elections for what), “Pá tras ni para coger impulso” (Going back not even for getting push), “Fidel, seguro a los Yankis dale duro” (Fidel hit hard the Yankees). Before the first year was gone, the president that was designed to replace President Batista was overthrown from one day to the other for a more malleable one. The tonic of the day was uncertainty, with an attitude of “Let’s see what is going to happen today.” The power to make decisions and designations, set priorities, and, moreover, the power to ignore the 1940 constitution’s principles were in the hands of only one person: Fidel Castro. He used the media and the rallies to proclaim whatever he had decided or came to his mind at that moment and to present it as essentially needed for “the best of Cuba.” If people needed stability in their surroundings to grow secure and mentally sane, after January 1, 1959, the surroundings of the Cubans changed from one moment to the other, from one day to the other, and you never knew what was going to be next.
Cuban people didn’t have a history of migration to other countries. The high and middle-class families sent their children to study overseas, professionals used to go to the United States to study or do an internship, but usually they came back and continued their lives in Cuba, working for Cuban or American business or organizations. What Cuba had was a tradition of hosting migrants. Cuba was the paradise of immigrants from Europe, Asia, Latin America, and the Caribbean. Now, slowly this path turned around and Cubans began to emigrate: first the owners of businesses that had made Cuba move economically to become the most important island in the Caribbean Sea and a competing state with the rest of Central and South America. After them, the professionals, the owners of small businesses, and those members of the organized political parties—people who thought different from the ones in power and consequently were called “traitors,” “worms,” or “vendepatrias.”
At the same time, more or less, began Operación Peter Pan, one of the saddest episodes of the first years of the revolution. The United States government, the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Miami, and a few Cubans that worked as coordinators coordinated operation Peter Pan. Between 1960 and 1962, over 14,000 children were sent from Cuba to Miami by their parents. The operation was designed to transport the children of parents who opposed the revolutionary government, and was later expanded to include children of parents concerned with rumors that their children would be shipped to Soviet work camps. With the help of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Miami and Monsignor Bryan Walsh, the children were placed with friends, relatives, and group homes in thirty-five states. There is a detailed and well-documented list of children who migrated alone, leaving their parents behind, but that list is incomplete. It didn’t document what it had meant for those parents, their pain while doing the maximum sacrifice, since they preferred the separation instead of seeing their children indoctrinated with foreign principles and ideas. I have had the privilege of learning firsthand their histories, both sides. I have read their books of reflection—with no doubt; this was one of the most critical and painful periods for the Cuban family.
The Diaspora began with the hope of coming back very soon: “Pá Nochebuena estamos acá.” (For Christmas we will be back.) The emigration of Cubans was leaving broken families, institutions, and communities. Every time you went to the airport to say “good bye” to a friend, you felt the pain inside you and the certainty that things would never be the same.
Not even in my worst nightmare I did think that the Catholic Church with its institutions was going to be so deeply affected by the so-called revolution. Slowly, the new reality was pushing me to accept that the end of my world was coming—sometimes at a very fast pace. Day by day, I began to get more and more involved in my work within the Catholic Church. I felt that if I did my part I could stop and not listen to the crumbling noises that were anticipating the turmoil that was coming. The first part of the turmoil came with the famous rally on May 1, 1961, when Fidel Castro declared the intervention of all the private and religious schools. Consequently, the priests, brothers, and nuns involved in the private education in Catholic schools began their exodus, leaving behind years of enthusiastic and dedicated work all around the island of Cuba. When they left Cuba, I felt as if the ground under my feet not only was shaken, but that I was left without a point of reference in my life.
Around that time of the year, the owner of the accounting firm where I started to work at the end of 1959 left Cuba with his family. Before leaving, I asked him if he could obtain three visa waivers: one for my brother, one for my sister, and the third one for myself—so we could travel to Miami as many other young people were doing at that moment. We wanted to restart our life there, and after we installed ourselves we could bring our parents too. The three visa waivers came in August 1961 with the three air tickets on Aerovias Q to Miami. I thought that this was the opportunity to open the “escape” door for the whole family. My father liked the idea, but he didn’t support me. My mother totally opposed to the idea, not giving reasons but considering it as an offense and “a traición” (betrayal) to my parents after all the sacrifices that they had done for me. My brother and my sister didn’t discuss the idea and didn’t say to me that it was good or that was not good. I didn’t have the energy to go again through another “family drama,” so the three tickets and visas were wasted. I wrote to my benefactor and explained to him that my family was not yet ready to take a decision like that.
In the meantime, Cubans were expecting a solution from Washington. On April 17, 1961, an armed force of about 1,500 Cuban exiles landed in the Bahía de Cochinos (Bay of Pigs) on the south coast of Cuba. Trained since May 1960 in Guatemala by members of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) with the approval of the Eisenhower administration, and supplied with arms by the US government, the rebels intended to foment an insurrection in Cuba and overthrow the Communist regime of Fidel Castro. The Cuban army easily defeated the CIA-trained Cubans and by April 20 most were either killed or captured. Poorly planned and executed, the invasion subjected President Kennedy to severe criticism inside and outside Cuba.
On the same weekend of Bay of Pigs, Fidel Castro, had a rally in a central corner of Vedado (Twelfth Street and Twenty-third Avenue). During it, he proclaimed Cuba as the first socialist-communist country in America. After those two events, little to nothing could be done internally to overthrow the regime, and the government knew it. Castro moved to eliminate all possible ideological interference with his intent.
In September 1961, during the night, the milicianos went, church by church, throughout the whole island of Cuba and removed every single priest who was on a list—of Spanish origin and of Cuban origin. When all 131 priests, including auxiliary Bishop of Habana Educardo Boza Masvidal were in the capital they were forced to take the Spanish ship Covadonga to Spain. Cuba’s clergy was reduced to more or less one hundred priests to minister ten million Cubans that declare themselves as being Catholics. No doubt that the government was doing everything in its hands to erase God from Cuba.
During the summer of 1961, the accounting firm where I was working was intervened by the government and I lost my job on the same day the intervention took place. A few months before the intervention, a priest who brought pamphlets of a newly founded religious community—a secular institute—called Cooperadoras Diocesanas visited one of the owners of the firm. I read the pamphlet and asked him several questions about the mission, the requirements, and its spiritual scope. A secular institute is an organization of individuals who are consecrated persons—professing the evangelical counsels of chastity, poverty, and obedience—while living in the world, unlike members of a religious order who live in community. Secular institutes first received papal recognition from Pope Pius XII in Provida Mater Ecclesia (1947). One day after the accounting firm was intervened, I called the phone number that appeared in the pamphlet and I was invited to accompany two of the members next Sunday while they were doing their ministry. It was easy to get enthusiast with them. They had no external distinctions; they were dressed as I was dressed. Even my makeup was light compared to theirs. They were “normal” people consecrated to work in the world for the sake of God. After a few apostolic visits, I was invited to visit their house of formation called Remanso.
After a few interviews with the priest director of the community, and with two of the members of the community, on October 7, 1961, I began my period called Postulantado. I told my parents about my intention of moving to Remanso a few days before October seven. Although I felt pain, remorse, and disappointment with myself for not honoring their tears and arguments, in this opportunity I didn’t stop nor hesitate in my purpose.
There is a dramatic poem written by a Spanish writer, José María Pemán, called “El Divino Impaciente.” The piece is the history of missionary St. Francis Xavier and his dialogues with St. Ignatius of Loyola. Just a few months into my life of formation as Cooperadora Diocesana, we declaimed this piece among ourselves. I had the privilege of representing St. Francis Xavier. It was a very task. My “vocation” was essentially missionary. I really wanted to fill the gap left by the priests removed from their parishes and the gap left by the nuns doing religious formation. I really wanted “to hold” God in Cuba, and for that I fervently performed the duties assigned to me: I taught the catechism to children, parents, and adolescents. I prepared Catholics for the reception of the sacraments, I counseled people in distress, I accompanied parents whose children emigrated, I helped wives whose husbands were in jail, I contributed to the preparation of more catechists, and so on.
The first years were totally dedicated to overcoming my personal difficulties so I could fit in the community and be able to perform my work according to the spirit of the Cooperadoras Diocesanas. Moreover, since I firmly believed in the importance and powerful force of the testimony, I worked very hard on my ways of feeling, thinking, and acting so I could be and live according to the Gospel no matter what were the circumstances, the challenges, and the difficulties that I confronted every day.
Those years were so centered on myself and on my apostolic work that I didn’t notice the so-called “out-of-context behaviors” and the comments about the priest in charge of the community. Toward the end of the third year in Remanso I was sent to visit some dioceses to teach new catechists in formation. Two major incidents shook my spirit: first, in the city of Camagüey a priest made comments about the personal integrity of the priest in charge of the community and the malice of his comments also touched the members of the community. And, secondly, a few days later, when I started to deliver one presentation on Sacraments in one parish of the archdiocese of Santiago de Cuba, his well-known archbishop called me to his office and in a very expressive and authoritative mode and tone of voice prohibited me and us, the Cooperadoras Diocesanas, from visiting or working in his archdiocese. When I asked the reason, he replied to me, “Ask the priest in charge. He must know why.”
I did so when I returned back to Habana. I shared with him both experiences—the comments in the diocese of Camagüey and the rejection of the archbishop of Santiago de Cuba. He didn’t give importance to both situations but labeled them as the result of envy and personal problems on the part of the others.
My next memory of that year, my third year in the community, was the retreat to prepare a group of us to profess, for first time, our evangelical counsels of chastity, obedience, and poverty. These vows were going to be renewed every year. It was the twentieth of May in 1965. A few days after this very important day of my life, another Cooperadora and I were assigned to begin the first foundation outside Remanso in the city of Palmira, diocese of Cienfuegos. The year that I spent in Palmira was the happiest and most fulfilling year of my life with the Cooperadoras Diocesanas. We worked from morning to night not only in Palmira but also in towns near Palmira and in response to invitations of other priests in charge of parishes throughout the province of Las Villas.
After the year ended, I was called back to Remanso. At that moment the community had other two houses in the city of Habana: one in Miramar and one in Arroyo Naranjo. There were new faces but many other familiar faces had abandoned the community. Some of them left because their families had previous plans to travel to United States or to Spain and they migrated with them. But others quit because they felt uncomfortable there, as two of them told me when I asked. Among the members still in the community there were a few whose families left Cuba but they themselves decided to stay behind. During the year that I was in Palmira the comments coming from priests and laity about the wrongdoings of the priest in charge had not ceased. Moreover, in a visit done to Remanso prior to be called to serve there two of the few “older” members of the community approached me to share and discuss their concerns.
Just a few months after I came back to Remanso the priest in charge of the community went to stay in the Nunciatura Apostolica de la Habana for a few weeks and later, left Cuba to Spain. We were informed that he was very ill due to problems in his back and in need of surgery, but also that he went to Spain to create a new house of Cooperadoras Diocesanas there –about the same time two members of the community traveled to Spain and I was assigned to be in charge of the Cooperadoras Diocesanas in Cuba.
A few days after their departure all of us, the Cooperadoras Diocesanas that remained in Cuba, sat down to speak and to analyze our situation. It was a faithful and truthful experience, glory be to God for it. Together, we designed a plan with two major objectives: to reinforce our ties with the hierarchy and priests of all the dioceses of Cuba by providing information about ourselves, our formation, and our pastoral vision and possible apostolic work, and to strengthen our spiritual and religious formation while we healed from the previous experiences. Consequently, we started to receive classes of scriptures, liturgy, history of the church, morals, and ethics from the same priests that were teaching in the Seminary of Habana. In addition, those Cooperadoras Diocesanas that requested more specialized attention to recover emotionally from their wounds started to receive psychological and psychiatric care from a very well known Catholic psychiatrist. Finally, we clearly decided and defined that we didn’t want to be accountable to any ecclesial authority other than the bishops of the dioceses where we were working. I, as person in charge of the community, assumed all the responsibility for the well being of the people under my care, and was accountable to the archbishop of Habana with whom I met every two weeks. The archbishop assigned a priest from the Capuchin order who had come recently from Spain to go to celebrate Mass and to attend the spiritual needs of the members. Father Pablo attended both houses, Remanso (house of formation) and Bethel (house of apostolic action). The days that Father Pablo didn’t celebrate Mass we walked to the parish where Remanso belonged and when he didn’t celebrate Mass in Bethel the members walked to the parish where Bethel belonged to participate in Mass there.
Time went by and we began to be known by our work, our good formation, and our spiritual disposition of service. New vocations began to arrive. From fewer than twenty sisters we moved to a little more than fifty in just three years of prayer and pastoral work. I felt and feel very proud of all and each one of my sisters in the community in Cuba. No one did anything else other than excel in their generous effort to study, to work, and to grow in their spiritual life and in their pastoral devotion. And without any doubt I can say that all and each one of them modestly contributed to build up the church of God in Cuba during those years.
Regretfully, despite our efforts the shadow about our identity and integrity were still there, presenting itself in prohibitions to visit or to work in certain parishes and/or dioceses, or in the form of comments or ironies, such as “Have you heard what is going on in Spain?” or “But you belong to the same group that is in Spain, the one of … no?” Or expressing lack of trust in whatever good work we were doing now because “Arbol que crece torcido jamas su tronco endereza.” (The tree that grows up twisted never will become straight). Or continually linking our words and deeds with the wrongdoings had done in Cuba before by the priest in charge of the community until he left. Or asking questions like “What is going on with the Cooperadoras, are they here or there?” and “To whom are you/they accountable?” Other questions were “Until when are they going to be without a priest that do your supervision?” and “Are you the same or new ones?” In addition, not only the members of the clergy were making comments but also those young women that contemplated the possibility of joining us came to see me with more or less the same line: “Such and such told me that …” or “It is true that?” Comments, questions, comments, questions, comments. We worked very hard to survive the gray cloud over us with the hope that, finally, it would be gone in a few more years. I was totally sure that our intentions and deeds would tell everybody who we were. But what is true is that instead of diminishing the comments and questions, they increased with our good deeds.
At the beginning of January 1969 I began a process of consultation with different priests, older members of our community, and people closely related to us. After months of discernment trying to find ideas to preserve the members of the community and the community in Cuba, we thought of the possibility of approaching the archbishop of Habana with the purpose of listing to him the difficulties we were facing. We thought proposing him a possible dissolution of our community in Cuba, to bring a solution to the impasse, before we regroup again later. I shared the idea with the “olders” of the group. On May 1, 1969, we went to visit the archbishop. He listened but he didn’t try to persuade us to change our minds, nor did he present to us a different approach. He just accepted our dissolution, as if we were giving to him an unexpected sense of relief.
I am not going to relate all the details that “the dissolution” carried in the practice. I will not go over the different difficulties that I faced within and outside the community after May 1. There were anger and resentment with the decision inside and outside the community. I was really devastated, mostly because I was the