Behind Cuban prison walls

By Stephen Gibbs
BBC correspondent, Cuba


It has been more than 15 years since the government last let foreign
journalists take a look behind the walls and razor wire of Cuba's prisons.

But the authorities have clearly decided it is time they be allowed another
look.


The phone rang, and, as is often the case, the Cuban government was on the
line.

"Would you like to visit two prisons tomorrow?", I was asked. There was only
one answer.

"Yes, of course", I replied.

"Good", said the lady from the foreign ministry. She told me to report to
Havana's international press centre the following day.

So the next morning I found myself boarding a Cuban tourist bus, normally
used to take holidaymakers to the beach, but this time packed with foreign
journalists looking forward to a day trip to jail.

Last year Cuba imprisoned 75 political dissidents.

While it has shown itself unfazed by the international criticism that
followed, it has taken great exception to allegations from some of the
relatives of those in jail, that their loved ones are being denied proper
medical care.

Facilities

Health care for all is one of the great boasts of this revolution.


The Cuban Government was determined to show us that "all" includes its
prisoners, by letting us see the medical facilities in two prisons.

First stop on the tour was the Combinado del Este jail, around half an hour
outside Havana.

It is the biggest prison in Cuba. A vast complex surrounded by barbed wire
and watch towers with armed soldiers peering out.

All went quiet inside our coach, as the gates were opened for us. None of us
knew what we were about to see.

Castro's dark dungeons, as President Bush describes Cuban prisons?

Degrading, filthy cells, as some of the dissidents' relatives allege?

Well, the first thing we saw was a baseball pitch.

Around 200 male prisoners were out in the open air. They were not close
enough for us to speak to them, but close enough for us to see that they
seemed intrigued that a tourist bus had come to visit.

The sports ground was surrounded by huge white, windowless cell blocks.

We gazed at them from the outside, but we were not allowed in.

Welcoming committee

Instead we were efficiently ushered by a team of uniformed ministry of
interior officials to the prison hospital.

A tape of soothing love songs was playing in the lobby, and there was a
strong smell of paint. It is a smell you rarely come across in Cuba, where
paint always seems in desperately short supply.

A welcoming ceremony - for our benefit - began with a passionate speech by a
young man in a red shirt. "Fidel you are great", he proclaimed.

I assumed he was a local Communist Party figure, there to start things off
on the right note.


All this incarcerated happiness was slightly unsettling

In fact, he was a convicted thief, serving 20 years and the first of many
successfully re-educated convicts we were to meet.

Our guides ushered us through what seemed like a very well-equipped prison
hospital. Then we were led into a classroom, where a lesson was under way.

A group of prisoners was studying nursing. They all stood to attention as we
walked in. One took the opportunity to deliver another speech, saying how
prison had enabled him to transform his life.

Performance

All this incarcerated happiness was slightly unsettling. But there was much
more to come.

We got back into the coach and drove across town to Cuba's main women's
prison. An even stranger place.

As we walked in, we were offered a flower by a smiling receptionist.

For some reason I felt that visiting a Cuban prison holding a gladiolus
would compromise my journalistic objectivity, so I declined.


Our tour began in the prison theatre. We were given some lengthy statistics
regarding motherhood and births in the prison.

Then a glamorous singer took to the stage. She had an incredible voice, and
sang - with great feeling - a revolutionary song.

"She cannot be a prisoner?" I said to the government minder standing next to
me. "Of course she is", he replied.

Idalys was serving 12 years for robbery. She said she was falsely accused
and should not be in prison, but that now she was inside she was delighted
with conditions.

I asked her how many people shared her cell. She was about to answer when
the interior minister man standing next to her told me it "varies", and we
moved on to the tour of the maternity ward.

Restricted view

The ward was full of teddy bears and beaming mothers holding young babies.


Sara was a lawyer just ending a five year sentence for falsifying public
papers.

She said she had had three miscarriages outside prison, but had delivered
without any complication behind bars. Prison had given her the best gift of
her life, she said, as she gazed at her sleeping son.

It was time to go. As we left, the crop-haired female ministry of interior
official who had organised the visit, thanked us for coming. She asked if we
had any questions.

There was a long silence.

Finally a Spanish journalist said what we were all thinking.

"When might we be able to see where all the other Cuban prisoners live, or
visit an actual cell?"

"Soon, I hope", replied the woman from the ministry.

Soon is a long time in Cuba.


From Our Own Correspondent will be broadcast on Saturday, 1 May, 2004 at
1130 BST on BBC Radio 4. Please check the programme schedules for World
Service transmission times.


Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/3667\
645.stm

Published: 2004/04/29 10:36:47 GMT