Blogs are an alternative source of independence news in Burma as all other media such as newspapers, radio, and TV are controlled by the military regime.
The bloggers gained international attention during the ‘Saffron Revolution’ against the government lead by the countries monks in 2007. Bloggers were the main source of news and uploaded video and images of the protest.
As our reporter Banyar Kong Janoi found out, the blogs are an important source of election news for young people inside Burma.
He spent two days with a renowned blogger inYangon.
An internet shop in Yangon is full of customers.
Most of them are young.
All though there is still no date for the election, there are many online forums with open heated debate about the poll.
University student, Mi Sike Ka-mar Chan, says she has learned a lot about the election online.
“2010 election is a heated issue in every blogs. On their discussion page, some people comment the election is good for people while others criticize. Some criticize the National League for Democracy Party not joining the election while others support them for boycotting it. There are a lot of blogs about Burma. We just read the ones that interest us. The blog suits Burmese people because they have a low bandwidth so we can open them easily.”
Another university student, Moe Kyaw, says blogs are his only source of information.
“I learnt from the blog about the 2010 election especially from the blogs which focus on politics. They post how to vote and they post the regulation of the election. By reading those posts we know the answers and we can say why we don’t agree with the election.”
The freeforcountry.tayzartay.com blogger is based in Rangoon.
He is calling for radical changes to the election process.
“We want to see an election of international standard. The government must change. We want a government who is truly elected by the people. We have lived under a military dictatorship since birth. Because of these we have to struggle to live. Compared to other countries we are behind because of the military leaders. That’s why we must follow other countries and lift the living standard of the people. We are fighting with our pen to explain to people from our blog.”
His blog became popular among young people inside Burma and gained an international audience after the ‘Saffron Revolution’ in 2007 when monks staged large street protests against the military regime in Burma.
The bloggers played a critical role by uploading images and telling the true story. In response the government cut internet access to the entire country.
A ‘Force for Country’ blogger explains how they avoid the government censorship.
“We need software, proxy numbers to pass through a banned server to login our blogs. The free proxy can be expired. So we share among our peers and we found new tech and proxy numbers that can pass the server to upload posts. We upload it in different internet cafés because if we upload at a permanent shop and post with a single IP, the authorities would know; they would come and arrest us. Typing in the house, we just upload the post in the shop within a minute. As soon as we have uploaded we leave.”
Shop owners are required to report customers who are looking at banned websites or sites that criticise the government.
They have been ordered by the government to check each user’s screen every 15 minutes to monitor their online activities.
On all the PCs in this internet café is a sign that reads: “You are not allowed to see political and pornography websites.”
Youtube, Google mail and Yahoo mail are blocked.
However many users are smart enough to surf banned websites through proxy servers.
But bloggers working inside the country do so at great risk.
28-year-old blogger, Nay Phone Latt, was sentenced to 20 years in jail in 2008 for posting a cartoon of the military leader, Than Shwe.
‘Free for country’ bloggers says security is very important.
“We can’t just look at the screen; we always have to look around us and see who is looking at us. When we are uploading, we do not use a full screen. We use the “restore down” function- half screen. While we are uploading the post we pretend to be surfing other websites so people don’t pay attention to us.”
He says he takes the risks because it’s his responsibility as a citizen of Burma.
“I don’t get any support in the way of funds to operate this blog. I just save from my pocket money to use the Internet for uploading posts. I get technical help from my friends who are better with computers. We can present the true story. It’s incredible when we go on a field trip; we can upload pictures which tell the true current story. When people understand the situation and learn from our blog, we are happier than if we got paid for our work. I feel this job is important so I do it.”
He says he is very honest in his work.
“I am very concerned with accuracy. I go into the field to collect information. Although there is not a lot of news on my blog it’s more of a watchdog. I monitor the work of civil servants and government officials. If I get a new’s tip, I will investigate further before posting it and I will take photos.”
Back in the Rangoon internet café university student, Nai Rot Khine, says bloggers are a lifeline for her generation.
“As for me, reading blogs is very important. We can read different kinds of issues. We can read open discussion about the current politics so we can make ourselves rich in knowledge.”
If you happen to be reading the book on the Kindle from Amazon, Mr. Wallace’s observation has an extra emphasis: a dotted underline running below the phrase. Not because Mr. Wallace or Mr. Lipsky felt that the point was worth stressing, but because a dozen or so other readers have highlighted the passage on their Kindles, making it one of the more “popular” passages in the book.
Amazon calls this new feature “popular highlights.” It may sound innocuous enough, but it augurs even bigger changes to come.
Though the feature can be disabled by the user, “popular highlights” will no doubt alarm Nicholas Carr, whose new book, “The Shallows,” argues that the compulsive skimming, linking and multitasking of our screen reading is undermining the deep, immersive focus that has defined book culture for centuries.
With “popular highlights,” even when we manage to turn off Twitter and the television and sit down to read a good book, there will a chorus of readers turning the pages along with us, pointing out the good bits. Before long, we’ll probably be able to meet those fellow readers, share stories with them. Combating loneliness? David Foster Wallace saw only the half of it.
Mr. Carr’s argument is that these distractions come with a heavy cost, and his book’s publication coincides with articles in various publications — including The New York Times — that report on scientific studies showing how multitasking harms our concentration.
Thus far, the neuroscience of multitasking has tended to follow a predictable pattern. Scientists take a handful of test subjects out of their offices and make them watch colored squares dance on a screen in a lab somewhere. Then they determine that multitasking makes you slightly less able to focus. A study reported on early this month found that heavy multitaskers performed about 10 to 20 percent worse on most tests than light multitaskers.
These studies are undoubtedly onto something — no one honestly believes he is better at focusing when he switches back and forth between multiple activities — but they are meaningless as a cultural indicator without measuring what we gain from multitasking.
Thanks to e-mail, Twitter and the blogosphere, I regularly exchange information with hundreds of people in a single day: scheduling meetings, sharing political gossip, trading edits on a book chapter, planning a family vacation, reading tech punditry. How many of those exchanges could happen were I limited exclusively to the technologies of the phone, the post office and the face-to-face meeting? I suspect that the number would be a small fraction of my current rate.
I have no doubt that I am slightly less focused in these interactions, but, frankly, most of what we do during the day doesn’t require our full powers of concentration. Even rocket scientists don’t do rocket science all day long.
To his credit, Mr. Carr readily concedes this efficiency argument. His concern is what happens to high-level thinking when the culture migrates from the page to the screen. To the extent that his argument is a reminder to all of us to step away from the screen sometimes, and think in a more sedate environment, it’s a valuable contribution.
But Mr. Carr’s argument is more ambitious than that: the “linear, literary mind” that has been at “the center of art, science and society” threatens to become “yesterday’s mind,” with dire consequences for our culture. Here, too, I think the concerns are overstated, though for slightly different reasons.
Presumably, the first causalities of “shallow” thinking should have appeared on the front lines of the technology world, where the participants have spent the most time in the hyperconnected space of the screen. And yet the sophistication and nuance of media commentary has grown dramatically over the last 15 years. Mr. Carr’s original essay, published in The Atlantic — along with Clay Shirky’s more optimistic account, which led to the book “Cognitive Surplus” — were intensely discussed throughout the Web when they first appeared as articles, and both books appear to be generating the same level of analysis and engagement in long form.
The intellectual tools for assessing the media, once the province of academics and professional critics, are now far more accessible to the masses. The number of people who have written a thoughtful response to Mr. Carr’s essay — and, even better, published it online — surely dwarfs the number of people who wrote in public about “Understanding Media,” by Marshall McLuhan, in 1964.
Mr. Carr spends a great deal of his book’s opening section convincing us that new forms of media alter the way the brain works, which I suspect most of his readers have long ago accepted as an obvious truth. The question is not whether our brains are being changed. (Of course new experiences change your brain — that’s what experience is, on some basic level.) The question is whether the rewards of the change are worth the liabilities.
The problem with Mr. Carr’s model is its unquestioned reverence for the slow contemplation of deep reading. For society to advance as it has since Gutenberg, he argues, we need the quiet, solitary space of the book. Yet many great ideas that have advanced culture over the past centuries have emerged from a more connective space, in the collision of different worldviews and sensibilities, different metaphors and fields of expertise. (Gutenberg himself borrowed his printing press from the screw presses of Rhineland vintners, as Mr. Carr notes.)
It’s no accident that most of the great scientific and technological innovation over the last millennium has taken place in crowded, distracting urban centers. The printed page itself encouraged those manifold connections, by allowing ideas to be stored and shared and circulated more efficiently. One can make the case that the Enlightenment depended more on the exchange of ideas than it did on solitary, deep-focus reading.
Quiet contemplation has led to its fair share of important thoughts. But it cannot be denied that good ideas also emerge in networks.
Yes, we are a little less focused, thanks to the electric stimulus of the screen. Yes, we are reading slightly fewer long-form narratives and arguments than we did 50 years ago, though the Kindle and the iPad may well change that. Those are costs, to be sure. But what of the other side of the ledger? We are reading more text, writing far more often, than we were in the heyday of television.
And the speed with which we can follow the trail of an idea, or discover new perspectives on a problem, has increased by several orders of magnitude. We are marginally less focused, and exponentially more connected. That’s a bargain all of us should be happy to make.
Steven Johnson is an author and entrepreneur. His new book, “Where Good Ideas Come From: The Natural History of Innovation,” will be published in October.
Ever since we launched Google Scholar, people have asked us to help them keep up with current research. Over the years, we’ve made several improvements to help find recently published articles, including the "Recent articles" mode, a simple interface to limit search to recent years, and, of course, more frequent index updates. As the next step in this endeavor, we have recently added email alerts. Now you can create alerts for queries of your interest. When new articles that match your alert query are added to Google Scholar, we’ll send you an email update with links to these articles.
To create an alert for a query, just do a search on Google Scholar as usual (e.g., [prion protein]) and click on the envelope icon which appears at the top of the search results. This will take you to a page with recent results for your query and alert options (e.g., alert options for [prion protein]). If the query returns results other than ones you were looking for, you can tweak it right there and view updated results. Adding more specific search terms often works, and so does placing full author names and multi-word concepts in quotes (e.g., [“quantum computing”]). Then, click on “Create alert” - and bingo! If you’re logged into Gmail, your alert will be created right away. If you’re not logged in, you’ll need to enter your email address and we’ll send you a verification message with links to confirm or cancel the alert. Any email address will do, you don’t need a Gmail account to receive Google Scholar Alerts. Once you click on the confirmation link, your alert will be created and you’ll start receiving email updates on your query.
To create an alert for articles citing a particular paper, first, find this paper in Google Scholar, then click on the “Cited by” link below the search result, and, finally, click on the envelope icon that appears at the top of the list of citing articles. To get updates when any of your papers are cited, it’s often easiest to set up an alert for all mentions of your name in text, e.g., [“E Witten”] with the quotes. To learn of new publications by your colleagues, try registering alerts for their names with an “author:” operator, such as [author:”S Hawking”]. If these alerts return too many results related to other people with the same name, try adding more specific search terms, such as the names of their co-authors, the name of the university they are associated with, or plain old keywords.
So, what does it take to provide an alerts service for the largest collection of research papers on the planet? Good question. To implement Google Scholar Alerts, we had to solve several tricky problems. First, we had to figure out how to quickly find newly available scholarly articles over the entire web. They can and do appear on a variety of locations - on publisher web sites, in scholarly repositories, on researchers’ web pages. Second, we had to determine which of the newly available articles were recently written or published. This can be difficult since many publishers and universities provide archival articles (which are not new) whereas early presentations of a work, such as preprints (which are indeed new), often have no dates associated with them. Third, we needed to update the index much more frequently. Updating a search service while it is being used by a large number of users is somewhat like changing tires on a car while it is going sixty miles an hour. We now add new articles to Google Scholar twice a week; we plan to further increase this frequency. Finally, we had to develop a query suggestion mechanism to help users construct effective alert queries. Our goal was to help people bridge the gap between finding key articles in a large collection (as they’re doing when they search Google Scholar) and finding relevant articles in the much smaller collection of recently published articles (as they would be doing with alerts).
We hope Google Scholar Alerts will help researchers everywhere keep up with the discoveries made by their colleagues worldwide.
In a 1980 interview, Gabriel García Márquez told TheNew York Times that he had spent three years writing a book about life in Cuba under Fidel Castro. But, he said, “now I realize that the book is so critical that it could be used against Cuba, so I refuse to publish it.”
In view of the Colombian author’s past concern for the victims of Latin America’s authoritarian regimes, it seems likely that what he called a “very harsh, very frank book” addressed Castro’s systematic repression of dissent: the rigged trials behind closed doors, the abysmal “reeducation” camps, the long prison sentences. Castro’s methods may have seemed relatively tame when compared with the mass slaughter of civilians by US-backed regimes throughout the region, for example in Guatemala. Yet as the cold war ended, these dictatorships gradually gave way to civilian rule, and the Castro government was left standing as the only one in the hemisphere that continued to repress virtually all political dissent. García Márquez’s book remained unpublished.
The fact that Latin America’s most renowned writer would censor himself in this way may actually say more about the plight of Cubans under Castro than anything in his manuscript. For the notion that to criticize Cuba is to abet its more powerful enemies was, for Fidel Castro, the key to achieving what his prisons alone could not—ensuring that his critics on the island remained isolated and largely ignored.
For years, many believed that the last thing keeping the region’s democratic tide from sweeping across Cuba was the unique force of Fidel Castro’s character—the extraordinary combination of charisma and cunning with which he inspired and corralled his supporters, provoked and outmaneuvered his enemies, and projected himself onto the big screen of world politics. Under his leadership, Cuba had made impressive gains in health care, education, and the eradication of extreme poverty. But the promise of the Cuban Revolution had been undercut by years of chronic deprivation, exacerbated by the US embargo, and brought to the brink of collapse by the dissolution of the Soviet Union, which had propped up the island’s economy for decades. Democracy would come to Cuba—the thinking went—as soon as Fidel Castro was no longer standing in its way.
Then in June 2006, his health failing, Castro was forced to step down formally after nearly five decades in power. And nothing happened. No popular uprising in the streets, no Party shake-up, no coup. Instead, his younger brother, Raúl, took up power and, though lacking Fidel’s charisma, was able to keep the country running smoothly. Within months, it seemed clear that Cuba’s single-party system could continue without Fidel at the helm.
Some still held out hope that Raúl Castro would begin a process of political reform, a Cuban perestroika. Those looking for signs of an opening pointed to several of Raúl’s early actions, including state-sponsored public forums ostensibly aimed at encouraging criticism of government policies and the signing of the two major international human rights treaties.
But was Raúl Castro allowing genuine criticism of his government? Was the repressive machinery being eased or even dismantled? A year ago Human Rights Watch set out to answer these questions. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. The Cuban government welcomes tourists to the island, but has for years denied access to international rights monitors. Foreign journalists are followed around by undercover agents: their e-mails are monitored and their phones tapped. Those who publish in-depth stories on controversial issues face expulsion.
Our first step was to write to the Cuban government requesting authorization to visit the island. Human Rights Watch does not normally request permission to do its work, but it seemed like a good way to test whether the government’s attitude had changed. The government never responded.
We then got in touch with several local dissidents. Outside of Cuba, people often refer to “the dissidents” as though they are a single, unified political group. They are not. They do not share a single ideology or objective. Rather, the dissident community is made up of a variety of Cubans scattered across the island, some of whom belong to small groups, and others who work alone. A dissident may be someone who writes articles critical of the government, attempts to form an independent labor union, or simply refuses to attend meetings of a local revolutionary committee. What ties these people together is that they engage in activities that the Cuban government considers contrary to its policies, and therefore “counterrevolutionary.”
We obtained reports of alleged government abuses from several unauthorized human rights groups in Cuba, whose leaders have persevered over the years despite tapped phone lines, restricted mobility, frequent police raids, and periods in jail, relying on a few committed volunteers to compile lists of political prisoners and testimony about violations. But tracking down the alleged victims to corroborate these reports often took weeks. E-mail access on the island is virtually nonexistent, and many families outside of Havana do not have phone lines. When we were able to get through by phone, some people were too frightened to speak. Others spoke cryptically to avoid arousing the suspicion of listening ears. Still others spoke freely until their lines went dead, mid-sentence. While we did manage to conduct some full-length interviews, it became increasingly clear that the only way to get the full story would be to visit the island.
It would prove to be the most difficult research mission Human Rights Watch had undertaken in the region in years. Our team entered on tourist visas and traveled the length of the island by car, telling no one in advance that we were coming and never staying in any town for more than one night.1 The fear we had sensed over the phone was even more palpable on the ground. Some people became so uneasy talking about government abuses that we cut short the interviews and moved on. Several alerted us to watching neighbors who monitored suspicious activity for the local Revolutionary Defense Committees. A Baptist minister, when asked about human rights, told us quietly that what we were doing was illegal and asked us to produce identification.
Yet many people welcomed us into their homes, where they spoke frankly of their experiences. Small boxes and folders were brought out from beneath beds and inside kitchen cabinets, with official documents that corroborated their stories. Among much else, we were shown a court ruling from a dissident’s trial, which his wife and children were not allowed to attend; a parole order warning a journalist that he could be returned to prison at any time; a letter denying a critic of the government permission to travel.
Piece by piece, the evidence stacked up. The human rights treaties had not been ratified or carried out. The “open” forums to discuss government policies were governed by strict rules that prohibited any talk of reforming the single-party system. More than one hundred political prisoners locked up under Fidel remained behind bars, and Raúl’s government had used sham trials to lock away scores more. These new prisoners included more than forty dissidents whom Raúl had imprisoned for “dangerousness.” The most Orwellian provision of Cuba’s criminal code, this charge allows authorities to imprison individuals before they have committed a crime, on the suspicion that they might commit one in the future. Their “dangerous” activities included failing to attend pro-government rallies, not belonging to official party organizations, and simply being unemployed.
We published our findings on November 18, 2009.2 It was only then that we received a response from the Cuban government: a public statement, published that day, declaring our report “illegitimate and illegal.”
If the crime of the political prisoners is essentially voicing their opinions, a main function of imprisoning them is to isolate them from their potential audiences. Ramón Velásquez Toranzo taught theater until his political activities cost him his job. In December 2006, he set out on a silent march across the island to call for the release of Cuba’s political prisoners. On the road he was repeatedly threatened and beaten by civilian Rapid Response Brigades, according to his wife and daughter, who accompanied him. He was twice detained and forcibly returned to his home by police. On his third attempt, he was taken to prison and given a three-year sentence for “dangerousness.” Raymundo Perdigón Brito, who had worked as a security guard before he too was fired for “counterrevolutionary” activities, wrote articles critical of the government for foreign websites until, in 2006, he was sentenced to four years in prison for “dangerousness.” Digzan Saavedra Prat, a shoemaker, documented abuse cases for a local human rights group, an activity that cost him his job and caused him to be convicted of “dangerousness” in 2008. His indictment accused him of “being tied to persons of bad moral and social conduct,” “setting a bad example for the new generation,” and “thinking he is handsome.”
Those who continue to speak out while in prison are isolated even further. One man was arrested and sentenced to four years for “dangerousness” after he tried to hand out copies of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in public in 2006. In 2008, he attempted to commemorate International Human Rights Day (December 10) by reading the Universal Declaration aloud to fellow inmates. But according to his wife, a guard cut him short, ordering him to eat the text—literally. When he refused, he was beaten, thrown into solitary confinement for weeks, and sentenced in a closed-door hearing to six more years in prison for disrespecting authority.
We heard many similar accounts from former prisoners and the relatives of current ones. Those who refused “reeducation” or questioned prison conditions were thrown into solitary confinement cells measuring three by six feet for weeks, even months, on end. Their visits were cut off, phone calls denied, and letters confiscated. Since Cuba has for years refused to grant human rights monitors access to its prisons, it is difficult to get firsthand general accounts of the conditions inside. The most comprehensive—by the sixty-seven-year-old journalist Héctor Maseda Gutierrez, currently serving a twenty-year sentence for his writing—had to be smuggled out of prison virtually page by page. It is titled “Buried Alive.”
While not all dissidents are locked up, nearly all are effectively imprisoned on the island itself. In clear violation of international law, the Cuban government requires its citizens to obtain permission to leave the country, and those marked as “counterrevolutionaries” are generally denied it. The prominent blogger Yoani Sánchez—whose posts comment on the daily indignities of life in Cuba—has three times been refused permission to leave the country, twice to accept international prizes and once, in March 2010, to attend a conference on the Spanish language.
The emergence of a nascent blogosphere has been heralded as a sign that Cuba is opening up, yet the government systematically blocks critical websites and strictly controls access, forcing bloggers to upload their posts using thumb drives and illegal back channels. Because an hour’s use costs roughly one third of Cubans’ monthly wages, and since there are few connections outside of cities, the average Cuban has no access to the Internet. Although Yoani Sánchez was named one of Time magazine’s one hundred most influential people, most Cubans on the island have never even heard of her, let alone read her blog.3
Adalberto Roque/AFP/Getty Images
A street peddler, right, watching dissidents Ofelia Acevedo and Oswaldo Paya of the Varela Project, whose grassroots campaign for a democratic referendum in Cuba was squashed by the government, Havana, October 3, 2003
The Cuban government also seeks to isolate dissidents from their communities. They are fired from their jobs and blacklisted from employment. They are subjected to public “acts of repudiation,” in which mobs surround their homes, chant insults, throw stones, and sometimes assault them in plain view of their neighbors. Friends and family members are warned to keep their distance, lest they too be branded counterrevolutionaries and punished. Under the “dangerousness” provision, even spending time with someone who is considered “dangerous” is punishable, a kind of “dangerousness” by association.
“People who come to my house are immediately called by state security and reprimanded,” Eduardo Pacheco Ortíz, a human rights defender and former political prisoner, told us. “Then these people—for fear of losing their jobs, for fear that [the authorities] will take it out on someone in their family—simply stop talking to me.”
After Ramón Velásquez Toranzo was sentenced to four years for his silent march across the island, his son René, who had not marched with his father or considered himself “political,” was fired from his longtime job without explanation, then repeatedly denied work on the grounds that he was not “trustworthy.” Members of the local Revolutionary Defense Committee regularly harassed and threatened him in public. Police warned his friends that they would get in trouble if they kept hanging around him, until he had few friends left. His girlfriend was forbidden by her parents from seeing him. “Some days I wake up and I think: I have nothing. I am nobody. I have no dreams left for my future,” René told us.
Some outside observers contend that the existence of around two hundred political prisoners has little impact on the lives of the 11 million other Cubans. But as the blogger Reinaldo Escobar recently wrote, “Why then does an index finger cross the lips, eyes widen, or a look of horror appear on the faces of my friends when at their houses I commit the indiscretion of making a political comment within earshot of the neighbors?”4 The political prisoners may be small in number, but they are a chilling reminder to all Cubans of what has been a basic fact of life for half a century: to criticize the Castros is to condemn oneself to years of enforced solitude.
In addition to declaring our report illegal, the Cuban government also claimed it was part of a broader effort to “trample” Cuba’s “right to free self-determination and sovereign equality.” This charge, while no more credible than the first, warrants serious attention, for it is reflected in the concerns of García Márquez and many others outside of Cuba who have for years been reluctant to criticize the Castros.
Invoking national sovereignty may be the most common tactic used by governments around the globe—and across the political spectrum—to counter criticism of their abusive practices. It is the international equivalent of the “states’ rights” claim that segregationists in the US South used for years to defend their racist laws and policies. The aim is to shift the focus of public concern from the rights of abuse victims to the rights (real and imagined) of the states that abuse them.
What sets the Castro government apart from most others that employ this tactic is the fact that Cuba has indeed, for five decades, faced an explicit threat to its national sovereignty—coming from the United States, a superpower ninety miles off its shores. In the 1960s, the threat took the form of covert military action, including the failed Bay of Pigs invasion and multiple botched assassination attempts. It continues in the form of the economic embargo established by President Eisenhower in 1960, later expanded by President Kennedy, and eventually locked in place by the 1996 Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act. Also known as “Helms-Burton,” the law prohibits the president from lifting trade restrictions until Cuba has legalized political activity and made a commitment to free and fair elections. It also prohibits lifting the embargo as long as Fidel and Raúl Castro remain in office. In other words, it requires that Cubans be free to choose their leaders, but bars them from choosing the Castros. It is thus a program to promote not only democracy but also regime change.
It is hard to think of a US policy with a longer track record of failure. The embargo has caused much hardship to the Cuban people but done nothing to loosen the Castros’ hold on power. Instead it has provided the Cuban government an excuse for the country’s problems. Billboards line the roads outside Havana with slogans like “Eight hours of the blockade is equivalent to the materials required to repair 40 infant care centers.” The excuse is effective because it is at least partly true.
The US policy has also served the Castros as a pretext for repressing legitimate efforts to reform Cuba from within. The most notorious example of the past decade came in response to the Varela Project, a grassroots campaign designed to take advantage of a constitutional provision that allows a national referendum on any reform proposal that receives 10,000 signatures. The organizers spent years holding meetings and gathering signatures, enduring repeated harassment by authorities, attacks, and arrests. In May 2002, they delivered more than 11,000 signatures to the National Assembly.
The response was crushing. Rather than put the referendum to a vote (as required by law), the Castro government countered with its own referendum, which proposed amending the constitution to declare the socialist system “irrevocable.” This referendum passed, according to the government, with 99 percent of the public’s support. Not long afterward, the government began its most aggressive crackdown in years, arresting seventy-five “counterrevolutionaries,” including many Varela Project leaders, and sentencing them to an average of nineteen years in prison.
In a news conference immediately following the crackdown, Cuba’s foreign minister claimed that the Varela Project had been “part of a strategy of subversion against Cuba that has been conceived, financed, and directed from abroad with the active participation of the US Interests Section in Havana.” The United States had indeed been supporting civil society groups in Cuba for decades. In 2002, the year prior to the crackdown, the State Department devoted $5 million to “democracy promotion” in Cuba, channeling it through the US Interests Section in Havana and nongovernmental groups based mostly in Miami. For instance, several Cuban journalists received salaries from US-funded Internet publications critical of the Castro government.
Nonetheless, many of the seventy-five were convicted without any evidence of support—direct or indirect—from the US government. And in those cases where the Cuban government did show they received US support, it provided no credible evidence that the recipients were engaged in activities that would be considered illegal in a democratic country.
According to Cuban court documents, the support took the form of supplying, through the US Interests Section in Havana, equipment like fax machines (“used systematically in sending information to counterrevolutionary cells located in Miami”), books (“all with a pronounced subversive content”), and medicine (“with the explicit purpose of winning over addicts to their cause”). In other cases, the prisoners had been paid by the US for filing articles or radio reports for foreign outlets, or visiting the US Interests Section, where they had “access via the Internet to the websites of enemy publications…[and] counterrevolutionary dailies like the Nuevo Herald, the Miami Herald, Agence France-Press, Reuters, and the American television channel CNN.”
Many governments require civil society groups to register funding they receive from foreign states. But for Cubans there is a catch: to register funding from the US government is to admit to a crime punishable with a prison sentence of up to twenty years—even when the funding merely supports activities like human rights monitoring, labor organizing, and establishing independent libraries. In fact, these activities are illegal in Cuba even when pursued without US support. The criminal code explicitly outlaws “actions designed to support, facilitate, or collaborate with the objectives of the ‘Helms-Burton Law.’”
Since promoting democratic rule is a central objective of Helms-Burton, any action taken toward that end can therefore be considered a crime. In this way, just as criticism of the Castros is equated with abetting their enemies, promoting democracy is equated with US-sponsored regime change.
But if the pretext for the crackdown was bogus, it nonetheless served a crucial function: to recast the government’s repression of its citizens as the story of a small nation defending itself against a powerful aggressor. It was the same tactic that Fidel Castro had been employing to brilliant effect for decades. By casting himself as a Latin American David besieged by a US Goliath, he usurped the role of victim from his prisoners. The sleight of hand worked because, for many outside of Cuba, the indignation provoked by the US embargo left little room for the revulsion they would otherwise feel for Fidel Castro’s abuses.
Raúl Castro has adopted this same tactic, so that when outsiders hear of Cuba’s political prisoners, many think first of what the US has done to Cuba, not what Cuba has done to its own people. While the prisons, travel restrictions, and information controls make it difficult for Cuban dissidents to get their stories out to the world, the Castros’ portrayal of Cuba as a victim makes audiences abroad less willing to hear these stories. The effect is to seal Cuba’s prisoners off from international sympathy and reinforce their prolonged solitude.
Once a year, for nearly two decades, the UN General Assembly has voted overwhelmingly to condemn the US embargo. In 2009, the resolution passed 187–3, with only Israel and Palau siding with the United States. While this condemnation is deserved, there is no such UN vote to condemn Cuba’s repressive policies, or comparable outrage about its victims.
This discrepancy is particularly pronounced in Latin America, where the long history of heavy-handed interventions and outright coups has left an abiding aversion to US bullying. Even leaders whom one might expect to be sensitive to the prisoners’ plight choose to remain silent. President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva of Brazil was himself imprisoned by a military dictatorship, and former President Michelle Bachelet of Chile is the daughter of a political prisoner (and herself a torture victim). Yet in recent years, both have made state visits to Cuba in which they embraced the Castros and refused to meet with relatives of political prisoners.
Meanwhile, an increasing number of leaders have praised the Castro government as a standard-bearer for the region. President Evo Morales of Bolivia says that Cuba “teaches the entire world how to live with dignity and sovereignty, in its permanent fight against the North American empire.” President Rafael Correa of Ecuador speaks of the “Latin American pride” he feels when witnessing Cuba’s ongoing revolution, which “secured the reestablishment of human rights for all Cuban men and women.” Perhaps the most fervent supporter is President Hugo Chávez of Venezuela, whose government has taken over the role, once filled by the Soviet Union, of keeping the Cuban economy afloat by providing millions of barrels of subsidized petroleum. Chávez calls Cuba’s revolution “the mother” of all Latin American liberation movements, and Fidel Castro “the father of the motherland.”
Over the past decade, a growing number of voices in the United States—including editorial boards, research organizations, and advocacy groups—have called for an end to the embargo. But they are far from winning the policy debate in Washington. Anti-Castro hard-liners within the Cuban-American community continue to wield disproportionate influence, even if their dominance has waned in recent years.
The opponents of the embargo have failed to be persuasive. Many have sought to play down the scope of repression in Cuba out of a concern—similar to García Márquez’s—that criticism of the Cuban government will only strengthen the hand of the anti-Castro hard-liners. But by making this strategic choice, they have undermined their credibility among the very people they need to persuade: those who are justifiably concerned about Cuba’s political prisoners. Moreover, they are unable to offer a politically workable solution to members of Congress, who will never vote to end the embargo if this will have no effect on the regime’s abuses.
The embargo must go. But it is naive to think that a government that has systematically repressed virtually all forms of political dissent for decades will cease to do so simply because the embargo has been lifted. Nor is it realistic, given the effectiveness of the Castros’ repressive machinery, to believe that the pressure needed for progress on human rights can come solely from within Cuba. The embargo needs to be replaced with a policy that will bring genuinely effective pressure on the Castro government to improve human rights.
For this to happen, the United States must make the first move. President Obama should approach allies in Europe and Latin America with an offer to lift the US embargo if the other countries agree to join a coalition to press Cuba to meet a single, concrete demand: the release of all political prisoners.
Some governments are sure to rebuff the offer, especially in Latin America. But for many others, the prospect of ending the embargo will remove what has long been the main obstacle to openly condemning the Cuban government’s abuses. And concentrating this multilateral effort exclusively on the issue of political prisoners will make it far more difficult for leaders who say they respect human rights to remain silent.
The new coalition would give the Cuban government a choice: free its political prisoners or face sanctions. Unlike the current US embargo, these sanctions should directly target the Cuban leaders—by denying them travel visas or freezing their overseas assets, for example—without harming the Cuban population as a whole. Ideally this ultimatum alone would suffice to prompt the government to release its prisoners. But even if it did not, the new approach toward Cuba—multilateral, targeted, and focused on human rights rather than regime change—would fundamentally transform the international dynamic that has long helped the Castros stifle dissent. The Cuban government’s efforts to isolate its critics at home would lead to its own isolation from the international community.
In the absence of such a shift, Cubans seeking reform will continue to face daunting odds. Any hope of drawing attention to their cause will require desperate measures, such as the hunger strike recently carried out by Orlando Zapata Tamayo, a dissident who had been in prison since the 2003 crackdown. For eighty-five days, Zapata Tamayo’s protest went largely unnoticed. It was only when he finally starved to death in February—becoming the first Cuban hunger striker to perish in almost forty years—that the world reacted. The European Parliament passed a resolution condemning his death as “avoidable and cruel” and calling for the release of all political prisoners. The Mexican and Chilean legislatures approved similar declarations.
The Cuban government responded in familiar fashion: it blamed the US. The state news organ claimed that Zapata Tamayo had been “thrust into death” by the “powerful machinery of the empire.” When several other dissidents began hunger strikes in the following days—including Guillermo Fariñas, a journalist who at this writing is reportedly near death—Cuban authorities dismissed them as “mercenaries” of the US. Decrying what he called a “huge smear campaign against Cuba,” Raúl Castro told the Cuban Congress, “We will never yield to blackmail from any country.”
Raúl Castro seems confident that he can defuse this latest challenge with the same sleight of hand his brother used so effectively in the past. And indeed, the flurry of condemnation following Zapata Tamayo’s death appears to have already faded. But more than just a tactical move, Raúl’s response reflects a vision for Cuba’s future that does not bode well for those desiring change. It is the vision he set forth on the fiftieth anniversary of the Cuban Revolution in 2009, addressing the nation from the same public square where Fidel had first proclaimed victory:
Today, the Revolution is stronger than ever…. Does it mean the danger has diminished? No, let’s not entertain any illusions. As we commemorate this half-century of victories, it is time to reflect on the future, on the next fifty years, when we shall continue to struggle incessantly.
A story of struggle always needs an adversary, just as a claim to victimhood needs an aggressor. After playing this role for fifty years, the United States is now in a unique position to bring about change in Cuba: when it stops acting like Goliath, the Castro government will stop looking like David. Only then will Cuba’s dissidents be able to rally the international support they need to end their long years of solitude.
—April 28, 2010
The research trip was carried out by Nik Steinberg and a Latin American human rights lawyer who preferred to remain anoymous. ↩
Human Rights Watch, "New Castro, Same Cuba: Political Prisoners in the Post-Fidel Era." ↩
Time magazine has also named Sánchez's blog, Generation Y, one of the twenty-five best in the world; it can be read at www.desdecuba.com/generationy.↩
SUWON, South Korea — Neither had a job. They were shy and had never dated anyone until they met through an online chat site in 2008. They married, but they knew so little about childbearing that the 25-year-old woman did not know when her baby was due until her water broke.
But in the fantasy world of Internetgaming, they were masters of all they encountered, swashbuckling adventurers exploring mythical lands and slaying monsters. Every evening, the couple, Kim Yun-jeong and her husband, Kim Jae-beom, 41, left their one-room apartment for an all-night Internet cafe where they role-played, often until dawn. Each one raised a virtual daughter, who followed them everywhere, and was fed, dressed and cuddled — all with a few clicks of the mouse.
On the morning of Sept. 24 last year, they returned home after a 12-hour game session to find their actual daughter, a 3-month-old named Sa-rang — love in Korean — dead, shriveled with malnutrition.
In South Korea, one of the world’s most wired societies, addiction to online games has long been treated as a teenage affliction. But the Kims’ case has drawn attention to the growing problem here of Internet game addiction among adults.
Sa-rang, born prematurely and sickly, was fed milk two or three times a day — before and after her parents’ overnight gaming and sometimes when her father woke up during the day, prosecutors said. The baby died “eyes open and her ribs showing,” said the couple’s lawyer, Kim Dong-young.
After six months on the run, they were arrested in March and charged with negligent homicide. On Friday they were sentenced to two years in prison, but the judge suspended Ms. Kim’s sentence because she was seven months pregnant and he said she needed some “mental stability.”
“I am sorry for being such a bad mother to my baby,” Ms. Kim said, sobbing, during the couple’s trial.
Thanks partly to government counseling programs, the estimated number of teenagers with symptoms of Internet addiction has steadily declined, to 938,000 in 2009, from more than a million in 2007, the Ministry of Public Administration and Safety said in April.
But the number of addicts in their 20s and 30s has been increasing, to 975,000 last year. Many of these adult addicts grew up with online games and now resort to them when they are unemployed or feeling alienated from society, said Dr. Ha Jee-hyun, a psychiatrist at Konkuk University Hospital.
This development and a recent string of cases like that of the Kims have prompted the government to announce plans to open rehabilitation centers for adult addicts and expand counseling for students and the unemployed, groups considered the most vulnerable to compulsive gaming.
“Unlike teenagers, these grown-ups don’t have parents who can drag them to counselors,” Dr. Ha said. He treats an average of four adults a month for an addiction to online games, he said. Two years ago, it was one a month.
More than 90 percent of South Korean homes are fitted with high-speed Internet connections. Nearly every street corner has a computer parlor with computers available for a fee. In these dim, 24-hour-a-day establishments, “the line blurs between reality and the virtual world,” said Jung Young-chul, a psychiatrist at Yonsei University.
Especially popular among adult players are large multiplayer online role-playing games.
In these games, players form alliances and wage battles that can last for days, with players operating in shifts to keep the action. The more time a player spends online, the more powerful the game character — and the player’s online status — becomes.
Cyberbattles can spill into the real world. There have been several reports of players tracking down and attacking others for killing the online characters they had identified with for years.
If the games are addictive, they are also highly commercial. “Items” — cyberweapons, outfits and special abilities acquired through gaming that strengthen their owners’ combat prowess — are traded for real money online. Such trades were valued at more than $1.2 billion last year.
Park Ki-hoon and his wife, Choi Jin-hee, both 37, run a swimsuit shop by day and play online games at night. During the winter off-season, Mr. Park said, he has played up to 18 hours a day and won up to $2,400 a month, enough to cover the rent on the couple’s shop.
If Mr. Park knows how to juggle his offline and online lives, many do not.
In February, a 22-year-old man was arrested and accused of killing his mother for nagging him about his obsessive playing. In the same month, a 32-year-old man dropped dead of exhaustion in a computer parlor after playing through the five-day Lunar New Year holiday. “Some jobless men come here in hope of a financial breakthrough,” said Hong Seong-in, the owner of a computer parlor.
South Korea promotes online games, with exports growing by 50 percent, according to the government, to $1.5 billion last year — by far South Korea’s single largest cultural export item. Its games are hugely popular in China and other Asian countries.
Although the country has become one of the first to address Internet addiction, little help is available for adults.
Computer parlor owners and game buffs assert that compulsive playing has actually been decreasing as the prices of items fall.
Enterprising players in South Korea and China have been running “item factories,” where hundreds of computers are programmed to play the games without human users for the sole purpose of generating items for cash.
“Online games are a culture,” Mr. Park said. “To me, people who hike or fish are as crazy as they think I am.”
Internet connections have slowed down recently across Burma with the country's two providers, the Ministry of Post and Telecommunications (MPT) and Myanmar Teleport, telling users that the Internet backbone is temporarily down.
The Internet backbone refers to the principal data routes between large, strategically interconnected networks and core routers.
Two Buddhist monks go online at an Internet cafe in Rangoon where owners are required to keep records of all users. (Photo: AFP)
However, several IT technicians in Rangoon told The Irrawaddy on Tuesday that the slowdown was due to a transfer of computer hardware from the providers' offices in the former capital to Yadanabon Cyber City near Mandalay.
“For the past two days, I have been unable to log on to any Web site,” said a staffer with an international nongovernmental organization in Rangoon. “We can only use Google Talk. We cannot access any other Web site or use e-mail.”
Several other Internet users in Rangoon, including students, travel agents, journalists and Internet café owners, confirmed that they could not work or study because they were unable to access the Internet.
“I cannot even get into my own homepage,” bemoaned a travel agent. “This is affecting business terribly. These months are our high tourist season.”
Many Internet cafes have closed their doors for business while the service is so poor, sources said.
There are only two Internet service providers in the country, the Ministry of Post and Telecommunications (MPT) and Myanmar Teleport, formerly known as Bagan Cyber Tech, a private company run by businessmen known to be well-connected with the ruling generals.
The Irrawaddy was unable to get confirmation from the providers on Tuesday as the lines were constantly engaged.
The Burmese military government has one of the most draconian approaches to the Internet in the world. Much information is censored and many international or exiled news agencies, such as The Irrawaddy, are officially banned in Burma.
Burmese citizens face long prison terms if caught sharing information or photos that the military authorities deem sensitive or subversive under Section 33(a) of the Electronics Act.
Several prominent members of the 88 Generation Students group, famous comedian Zarganar, some journalists and various bloggers have been arrested and jailed for breaking the Electronics Act in the past two years.
Last week, a young man named Soe Naing Lin was jailed for 13 years with hard labor by a special court set up inside Insein Prison. One of the charges against him was the Electronics Act. He was arrested at an Internet café in Rangoon in June 2009 accusing of sending information to the Oslo-based Democratic Voice of Burma.
Although state policy limits and controls the public's use of the Internet, the military junta has simultaneously attempted to show the world that they want to advance Burma’s information technology as a part of a modernization drive.
In 2006, the junta tried to establish the Burmese version of Silicon Valley––Yadanabon Cyber City near Pyinoolwin in Mandalay Division––with concessions allotted to military cronies' companies such the Htoo Group, owned by tycoon Tay Za.
With the aid of Chinese companies and technicians, Yadanabon Cyber City has been assigned the task of handling surveillance of Burma’s flow of information.
The junta allowed companies and technicians on Jan. 23-24 to hold an IT forum which was called “BarCamp Yangon,” attracting many young Burmese IT enthusiasts.
BarCamp Yangon, held at Hlaing University Campus in Rangoon, was attended by 2,500 IT technicians and students. During the two-day forum, Burmese telecommunication authorities temporarily allowed an assessment of blogs for Internet users in the country. However, after the forum, the limits on information technology returned to normal.
“A real BarCamp means describing freedom of information as well as open discussion,” said a Rangoon-based blogger who spoke on condition of anonymity. “But the BarCamp in Rangoon cannot fully demonstrate what freedom of information is unless the junta allows a free flow of information.”
Bloggers have complained that the military authorities have refused to permit them to hold a bloggers' conference for the last two years.
By Jenna Johnson Washington Post Staff Writer Wednesday, January 27, 2010; B01
Last spring was the first time since World War II that University of Virginia students did not publish their yearbook, "Corks and Curls."
No one seemed to notice.
This school year, despite hopes that the yearbook could be resurrected, no staff has formed, and the yearbook office is dark. The Cavalier Daily, the student newspaper, reported this week that "Corks and Curls" had died one year shy of its 120th edition for lack of funding and student interest.
College yearbooks have been slowly disappearing as campuses expand and diversify and students' lives move online, away from paper records of their college memories. The thick volumes can cost as much as $100 each at a time when some students have difficulty paying for textbooks.
"This is a sad thing for many people, but I think it's also a sign of the times," said Aaron Laushway, an associate dean of students who pulls out old yearbooks to explain U-Va history and traditions. "The idea of having a physical binder of reminders of an academic year is waning."
In the past two years, several universities have closed their yearbooks. Towson University near Baltimore sold about two dozen yearbooks to its more than 20,000 students last year and is considering not printing one this year.
Yearbook publisher Jostens estimates that about 1,000 colleges, mostly small campuses and liberal arts schools, still produce a yearbook.
"Today, you have larger campuses with satellite campuses . . . and student populations that cover such a diverse group, from high school graduates to working adults to online students," said Richard Stoebe, the company's spokesman. "Successful yearbooks are inclusive. That's obviously tougher to do in college." A slow demise
College yearbooks have been in slow decline since campus life changed in the 1960s and '70s, Stoebe said. Recently, several large schools, including Purdue University and Mississippi State University, have folded their yearbooks.
Schools that have yearbooks have tried attracting the Facebook generation with year-in-review DVDs or online features or have switched to digital yearbooks to save money. Some universities have begun to fund the creation of the yearbook or added the price to student fees. Others campuses have transferred responsibility for the project to alumni associations.
The student government at St. Mary's College of Maryland decided to pay small salaries for the yearbook editor and staff members this year so the struggling publication could stabilize and determine its direction, said Clinton Neill, coordinator of student activities.
"Technology is changing," he said. "Other schools are looking at other ways of documenting their years. Maybe we can look at some of those ways for documenting our years."
Yearbook staffers and campus historians gush about the importance of yearbooks, how they capture an academic year and preserve it for future generations. Even the titles of the books evoke student life from long ago: Georgetown University's yearbook is called "Ye Domesday Booke." Johns Hopkins University calls its yearbook "Hullabaloo."
"With yearbooks, you look at them the first day you get them, then you put them away and don't look at them for years," said Ashley Kemper, 22, editor of American University's yearbook, "The Talon," which sells about 400 copies a year to the campus's 6,000 undergraduates. "We try to give things context. Fifty years from now, people can open their yearbook and remember what it was like."
A long tradition
U-Va.'s "Corks and Curls" was first published in 1888 by a group of fraternity members, making it one of the oldest college yearbooks in the country. Its name captured the two types of students on campus: "Corks," who were unprepared for class and corked up when called on, and "curls," who when patted on the head by admiring teachers "curleth his tail for delight thereat."
The old volumes trace the history of the prestigious school, as the artwork transitions from pen-and-ink sketches to black-and-white photos to color layouts.
"It was a tradition; it had a lot of history," said Lorenzo Mah, 27, a 2005 graduate who worked on the yearbook for four years. "I don't think there are a lot of yearbooks that have been around for more than 100 years."
Early editions contained "statistics" of the average student's height, weight, hair color, religion, bedtime and expenses, showing that he was white, male and wealthy. Those early copies also contained caricatures of blacks and racist language. The first African American student graduated from the university in 1962, and the next year the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke on campus, but neither event is documented in the yearbook, according to a history of the yearbook written by Whitney Spivey, who graduated in 2005.
When women began to enroll in 1970, the all-male yearbook staff joked: "There are ads for women's lingerie in the Cavalier Daily, and there are 42 rejected urinals in the men's dormitories, and there are lipsticks and powder puffs and false eyelashes and bride's magazines in Newcomb Hall, and there are painted fingernails waving in the faces of professors." In 1975, the first female yearbook editor was elected.
Little hope seen
But by about 2003, the U-Va. yearbook began to run into financial problems. One year, the book was finished late and the organization went into debt mailing the heavy 500-plus-page volumes to students who had graduated, Mah said. By that point, there wasn't enough money in the budget to pay for staff pizza parties.
The last yearbook was published after the 2007-08 school year. The next year, another staff got together and excitedly began to plan the school's 120th edition but realized there was not enough money or student interest to continue, said Michelle Burch, an economics major who was co-editor in chief that year. The yearbook has been suspended since.
"Can 'Corks & Curls' be revived? I don't know," Burch wrote in an e-mail. "It would take a completely different approach to bring it back to life in this digital world."
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