NONBON, THAILAND -- San Silawat has three dogs, two cows and a parrot. He grows rice and spring onions on a small plot of land. But he's hardly a pauper: He's added a second floor to his house and built a blue-tiled patio. His son plays computer games in the front room. His daughter recently bought a Nissan pickup truck. His granddaughter studies nursing in Bangkok.
For all his relatively good fortune, however, San is certain about one thing: "Life is definitely getting worse," said the 62-year-old farmer, grumbling about the price of gasoline, school fees and a political and economic system he sees as rigged in favor of the rich.
Last month, San and six friends from this village in northeastern Thailand piled into a pickup and drove 14 hours to join "red shirt" protests in Bangkok. During nine weeks of demonstrations, scores of other rural folk from Nonbon and nearby settlements made the same 390-mile trip.
Beneficiaries of an economic boom that, in just three decades, has cut the proportion of Thais living below the poverty line from 42 percent to about 8 percent, San and his family represent both the promise and the peril of Asia's dizzying transformation.
From China in the north to Indonesia in the south, hundreds of millions of people are now living far better than a generation ago. But the gap that separates them from the rich has often grown wider. As their fortunes and expectations have risen, so too has their frustration. And, as recent turmoil in Thailand has shown, this can mean big trouble.
San and his neighbors rallied to the red shirts not because they are hungry, uninformed and desperate but because they are no longer any of those things. Though still very poor compared with Bangkok residents who cheered the red shirts' defeat when government troops moved in on May 19, they are a better-off, better-informed and far more demanding voice in national affairs than their elders. San buys and reads a newspaper every day.
"Farmers in the past didn't ask for anything. They just did their farming," said his daughter, Tasaneeporn Boran, standing next to her brand-new black Nissan, which she bought in February.
"We now know what is going on," she said. "We know what we want and don't want." What she doesn't want most of all is a "government that only looks after the rich, instead of ordinary people."
Continental divide
It is a demand that raises alarming questions not just for Thailand's Eton- and Oxford-educated prime minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva, but for governments across Asia struggling to manage rising expectations amid growing, but unevenly spread, prosperity. Thailand's protests began in March not during a recession, but as the economy recorded first-quarter growth of 12 percent, its strongest performance in 15 years.
China, meanwhile, saw its economy surge by 11.9 percent -- and has since been hit by a wave of labor unrest, including a strike over wages at a Honda factory in Guangdong, one of the country's wealthiest regions. China's Communist Party has staked its future on a bet that economic growth will reinforce, not undermine, stability. But Thailand's experience shows how easily such calculations can come unstuck.
Instead of political calm, growth in Thailand has brought increased tension. When the country set off the 1997 Asian financial crisis and fell into a deep slump, political stability in Thailand actually increased and then plunged as the economy took off again, according to the Worldwide Governance Indicators, compiled by experts from the Brookings Institution and the World Bank.
Over the last four decades, Thailand's economy has grown an average of about 7 percent a year, and average real per-capita income has roughly tripled since the mid-1980s. But, according to a recent report on Thailand last year by the United Nations Development Program, the Southeast Asian nation is beset by "persistent inequality" that defies a widely accepted theory that the gap between rich and poor widens during an initial phase of development but then narrows.
Thailand's income inequality is roughly the same as that of much poorer nations such as Uganda and Cambodia and slightly worse than that of China and the United States, both highly unequal in terms of income distribution, according to data in the United Nations 2009 Human Development Report.
Despite the income gap, the people of Nonbon have unquestionably benefited from their country's rapid development. Tasaneeporn recalled growing up in the 1970s with no electricity, no running water and no paved roads. Only one family had a TV.
The main economic driver in the region at the time was the U.S. Air Force, which used a big airfield in the nearby city of Ubon Ratchathani to launch bombing runs over Vietnam and Cambodia. Now, a recently widened four-lane highway -- dotted with convenience stores and shopping centers -- connects Ubon Ratchathani, the regional capital, to farmland around Nonbon.
Tasaneeporn's brother recently got work in the city at a new luxury hotel. The job gives him a small, steady income -- and puts him in daily contact with people who have far more money.
'Voice of the People'
The most vocal red shirt supporters in these parts are not the destitute -- people like Sritta Sorsrisuk, a 71-year-old farmer who has seen two of his six children die. "I don't care about politics," he said, sitting in a tumbledown shelter next to his tiny plot of land. But others "talk about it all the time: red this, red that."
More keen on the red shirts is Usasorn Anarat, a neighbor of San's who traveled to Bangkok twice to join the protests. Thanks to her husband, who works in Qatar, and modest profits from a rice farm, Usasorn has a monthly income of about $1,000, far above the local average.
Like San, Tasaneeporn and nearly everyone in the villages around here, she's a huge fan of Thaksin Shinawatra, the self-exiled former prime minister who was ousted by the military in 2006 and is now wanted for "terrorism" under a Thai warrant. Thaksin, Usasorn said, "loves the country, won elections, and they chased him away."
Thaksin, a billionaire, regularly visited the Thai countryside and launched a raft of programs to help rural residents, including cheap health care, easy credit and handouts of about $30,000 to each village head. He even stopped off in the village next to Nonbon.
"Nobody had done that before," said Tasaneeporn. Her father managed to shake Thaksin's hand. He now has a picture of Thaksin pinned on his living room wall, along with photographs of Thailand's king.
After Thaksin and King Bhumibol Adulyadej, now 82 and hospitalized, the most popular person around here is Phichet Thabbudda, a rabble-rousing radio announcer known as "DJ Toy."
He founded and ran the "Voice of the People," a shoestring local radio station that won a big following with fiery denunciations of the government and the well-to-do. He also organized convoys of vehicles bound for Bangkok
Echoing the rhetoric of red shirt leaders in Bangkok, DJ Toy spoke of Thailand as a nation divided between hard-working but impoverished "serfs" and an oppressive, greedy "aristocracy." This played well in Nonbon and in other villages across northern Thailand. But Jamnong Jitnivat, a longtime local campaigner for farmers' rights, said it distorts reality. The real issue, he said, is a government bureaucracy out of touch with an increasingly well-informed and better-off population that now "demands much more than before."
When troops moved in to dislodge protesters in Bangkok on May 19, DJ Toy's radio station thundered against the crackdown and called on listeners to show their anger. Protesters burned down city hall in Ubon Ratchathani. The following day, police and soldiers arrested DJ Toy at his home, raided his studio and hauled away his antenna.
San, the rice farmer, said he misses his broadcasts but still keeps up with events by reading the newspaper and watching TV. "We all know what is happening," he said. "We know who is good and who is bad."
For 17 months, anger at President Obama and congressional Democrats has been pooling on the left. On Tuesday morning, it spilled onto the floor of an Omni Shoreham ballroom and splashed all over House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.
The celebrated San Francisco liberal took the stage to greet what should have been a friendly audience: the annual gathering of progressive activists organized by the Campaign for America's Future.
Instead, Pelosi was eaten by her own.
Just three minutes into her speech -- right after she gave the triumphant news that "Change is here!" -- two men stood up and spread out a large pink banner in front of the podium demanding "Stop Funding Israel Terror."
At that moment, a wheelchair-bound woman named Carrie James began to scream from her table about 30 feet away: "I am not going to a nursing home!" At that cue, about 15 people in the crowd -- who, like James, wore orange T-shirts demanding "Community Choice Act Now" -- unfurled bedsheet banners and struck up a chant: "Our homes, not nursing homes!"
Bodyguards rushed forward and formed a six-person ring around Pelosi and the lectern. Leaders of the conference tried to take the speaker backstage until the disturbance could be quelled, but she brushed them off: "I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving," she said. "You have made your point. I'm going to give my speech over your voices."
And she did, for an excruciating half-hour. The hecklers screamed themselves hoarse, dominating Pelosi's speech through her concluding lines: "I want to say thank you to Campaign for America's Future for your relentlessness, for your dissatisfaction, for your impatience. That's what I see every day in my district."
Political movements tend to unravel gradually, but on Tuesday this one seemed to be imploding in real time. As the "tea party" right has gained strength, Obama's hope-and-change left has faded. The frustration has crystallized at the gathering this week of demoralized activists.
At Monday's opening session, attendance was sparse: 10 empty tables and about 200 empty chairs. "Progressives have grown ever more dissatisfied, and for good reason," Robert Borosage, the conference organizer, said at the start. "Our hopes or illusions were shattered: escalation in Afghanistan, retreat on Guantanamo, no movement on worker rights or comprehensive immigration reform, dithering on 'don't ask, don't tell,' reverses on choice, delay on climate change and new energy."
After a musical break that included the Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," Borosage's co-director, Roger Hickey, took up the complaint. "Larry Summers and Tim Geithner and Rahm Emanuel don't see themselves as part of a movement, and we often see them as part of a problem," he said.
Up next, Darcy Burner of ProgressCongress.org accused Obama of "split the baby" politics and complained that some liberal leaders had sold out for invitations to "White House cocktail parties."
Tuesday brought a denunciation of the Democrats from former Democratic chairman Howard Dean: "It's time for them to behave like Democrats if they want to get reelected. They have forgotten where they came from -- and they haven't been here that long."
In the exhibit hall was a table labeled "Phone Bank for Bill Halter" -- the man trying to unseat Sen. Blanche Lincoln (D-Ark.) for being insufficiently liberal.
But that was tame compared with the treatment of Pelosi. With her daughter and infant granddaughter watching, the House speaker stammered and struggled to belt out her speech as disability activists shouted her down. Borosage, shaking his head and licking his lips, tried to shoo the wheelchairs away from the podium.
Some audience members tried to shout down the hecklers. "Why are you doing this? You think this is going to help?" pleaded one. Another man asked the demonstrators if they'd "mind shutting up" and flipped his middle finger at them.
This only worsened the disturbance. "Sorry, the stakes are a little high!" James shouted from her wheelchair. Pumping her fists in the air, she chanted: "Hey, hey, ho, ho, nursing homes have got to go!"
Pelosi tried to make a joke. "Listen, I'm used to noise. I talk to the Democratic caucus every single day." A bit of laughter mixed in with shouts of "Our homes! Our homes!"
Pelosi said she supports the hecklers' legislation, a long-languishing proposal to increase access to community services for the disabled, who say it would allow more of them to live at home. But the protest wasn't about reason; it was about rage. Pelosi finally finished her speech to a mixture of cheers and boos. "Everybody calm down," Hickey pleaded. "Let's take a deep breath."
As if to admonish the discontented activists over their treatment of the speaker, the strains of Fatboy Slim's "Praise You" came from the sound system:
Matthew Stoltzfus, left, on his farm in Lancaster, Pa., where a government program is working with Amish farmers to try to instill more environmentally sound methods for handling runoff.
By SINDYA N. BHANOO
LANCASTER, Pa. — With simplicity as their credo, Amish farmers consume so little that some might consider them model environmental citizens.
“We are supposed to be stewards of the land,” said Matthew Stoltzfus, a 34-year-old dairy farmer and father of seven whose family, like many other Amish, shuns cars in favor of horse and buggy and lives without electricity. “It is our Christian duty.”
But farmers like Mr. Stoltzfus are facing growing scrutiny for agricultural practices that the federal government sees as environmentally destructive. Their cows generate heaps of manure that easily washes into streams and flows onward into the Chesapeake Bay.
“There’s much, much work that needs to be done, and I don’t think the full community understands,” said David McGuigan, the E.P.A. official leading an effort by the agency to change farming practices here in Lancaster County.
Runoff from manure and synthetic fertilizers has polluted the Chesapeake Bay for years, reducing oxygen rates, killing fish and creating a dead zone that has persisted since the 1970s despite off-and-on cleanup efforts. But of the dozens of counties that contribute to the deadly runoff of nitrogen and phosphorus, Lancaster ranks at the top. According to E.P.A. data from 2007, the most recent available, the county generates more than 61 million pounds of manure a year. That is 20 million pounds more than the next highest county on the list of bay polluters, and more than six times that of most other counties.
The challenge for the environmental agency is to steer the farmers toward new practices without stirring resentment that might cause a backlash. The so-called plain-sect families — Amish and Old Order Mennonites, descended from persecuted Anabaptists who fled Germany and Switzerland in the 1700s — are notoriously wary of outsiders and of the government in particular.
“They are very resistant to government interference, and they object to government subsidies,” said Donald Kraybill, a professor at Elizabethtown College who studies the Amish. “They feel they should take care of their own.”
But the focus on the plain-sect dairy farmers is unavoidable: they own more than 50 percent of Lancaster County’s 5,000-plus farms.
“It’s been an issue over the last 30 years,” Dr. Kraybill said. “We have too many animals here per square acre — too many cows for too few acres.”
For now, the environmental agency’s strategy is to approach each farmer individually in collaboration with state and local conservation officials and suggest improvements like fences to prevent livestock from drifting toward streams, buffers that reduce runoff and pits to keep manure stored safely.
“These are real people with their own histories and their own needs and their own culture,” said John Hanger, the secretary of environmental protection in Pennsylvania. “It’s about treating people right, and in order to treat people right, you’ve got to be able to start where they are at.”
But if that does not work, the government will have to resort to fines and penalties.
Last September, Mr. McGuigan and his colleagues visited 24 farms in a pocket of Lancaster County known as Watson’s Run to assess their practices. Twenty-three of the farms were plain sect; 17 were found to be managing their manure inadequately. The abundance of manure was also affecting water quality. Six of the 19 wells sampled contained E. coli bacteria, and 16 had nitrate levels exceeding those allowed by the E.P.A.
Persuading plain-sect farmers to install fences and buffers underwritten by federal grants has been challenging because of their tendency to shy from government programs, including subsidies. Members neither pay Social Security nor receive its benefits, for example.
Word of the E.P.A.’s farm visits last September traveled rapidly through Amish country, Mr. Stoltzfus said, even though most plain-sect farmers do not have their own phones.
The farmers whom the agency visited declined to be interviewed. But Mr. Stoltzfus, whose brother-in-law was among them, said that as the news circulated, some farmers decided on their own to make changes in anticipation of intervention by the agency.
“I had never heard of the E.P.A. coming out to do inspections,” he said. “I think these practices are going to be required more.”
With help from the Lancaster County Conservation District, Mr. Stoltzfus applied for a government grant to help finance construction of a heifer barn with a manure pit. He expects the grant to cover about 70 percent of the cost.
But some Amish farmers were angered by the agency’s intrusion and its requirements.
“It’s certainly generated controversy,” said Sam Riehl, a farmer in the area. “We wonder whether we are being told what to do, and whether the E.P.A. will make it so that we can’t even maintain our farms.”
Mr. Riehl said he had vowed never to accept a government grant. He does have a manure management plan and a manure pit, he said, although several of his neighbors do not.
Last year the federal Fish and Wildlife Serviceawarded $500,000 to the Chesapeake Bay Foundation to work with the farmers on switching to barnyard runoff controls, streamside forest buffers, no-till farming and cover crops. The money has been lucrative for local agricultural companies like Red Barn Consulting, which has used some of it to hold milk-and-doughnut sessions in barns for Amish farmers and drop off fliers door to door.
The firm’s owner, Peter Hughes, and his employees instruct the farmers on manure management and do free walkthroughs to offer suggestions. In the last six months, Mr. Hughes said, his plain-sect clientele has soared from several dozen farmers to about 200.
Working with the plain sect presents challenges, Mr. Hughes said. For one thing, the group is deeply averse to salesmanship. Then there is the technological communication problem: most of the farmers share a phone booth along a road with several neighbors.
“I had one client who would call me at 5:15 every morning,” he said. “That was his allotted time to use the phone, and that was the only way for us to talk.”
Most days Mr. Hughes is on the road in his pickup visiting farmers. As he drives, he said, he is often struck by the dichotomy between a would-be pastoral ideal and the environmental reality.
“You see those cows and the fields, and it’s beautiful,” he said. “But then there’s that big pile of manure sitting back there.”
Mr. Stoltzfus hopes he is ahead of the game. By adopting new practices and building the manure pit, he thinks he can both help the environment and steer clear of E.P.A. interference.
At midday, Mr. Stoltzfus was placing a bowl of cut fruit into a propane-powered cooler in his backyard, one of the family’s few concessions to technology. Hand-washed black pants and plain cotton dresses fluttered on a clothesline behind him. He offered a taciturn reflection on how quickly things had changed — his willingness to accept the grant, for example.
“A while back, Old Order Amish would not participate in programs like this,” he said, “but farming is getting expensive.”
And then he ended the conversation.
“Is that all?” he said politely but coolly. “I have work to do.”
The short, lumpy red couch in Stili Klikizos' second-grade classroom at Milwaukee's Fratney Elementary School was meant for quiet-time reading. Now it's "the sick couch," a place for ill students to lie down as they await the bus that takes everybody home at day's end. "The parents work and will lose pay if they come get them," she told me as I sat on the couch. Thanks to her union contract, Klikizos gets 12.5 paid sick days a year. Many of her students' parents aren't so fortunate. "It crosses socioeconomic lines. Sometimes kids tell me not to even call, since 'Mom will get fired if she leaves.'" Last year, several couch-sitters were belatedly diagnosed with swine flu.
The no-show parents are among the 40 percent of the private sector who don't receive sick pay. Among full-time workers, 73 percent are covered by paid medical days. (Ninety-one percent have paid vacation, 89 percent paid holidays). The percentage is far lower on every count for part-time workers, though it's not just the motel cleaning lady or immigrant dishwasher who is scared to call in sick, see a doctor, or pick up a kid from school. Retail sales supervisors and information technology managers deal with the same domestic crises.
They all have a stake in the little-noticed debate over paid sick days now unfolding in Washington, state capitals, and cities, with strong arguments for change confronting the economic and political realities of a recession that makes employers nervous about any extra costs. In Congress, the proposed Healthy Families Act—one of the last bills sponsored by Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy before he died—would guarantee as many as seven paid sick days a year for workers at companies with at least 15 employees. More than 30 million additional workers would be covered if it passes, including 6 million food-service and food-preparation workers who now have to either work when sick or lose pay. Consider that next time you're dining out.
Similar state and local proposals are launching debates in Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New York City. Laws are already in force in San Francisco and the District of Columbia, with the constitutionality of Milwaukee's soon to be argued in the Wisconsin Supreme Court. The face-offs echo those surrounding the Family & Medical Leave Act signed by Bill Clinton in 1993, with one side invoking morality and practicality and the other warning of dire economic consequences. The FMLA allows workers to take up to 12 weeks of unpaid leave to deal with a serious health problem, birth or adoption of a child, or care for a family member. Its impact has been decidedly benign.
Under a city ordinance that passed in 2008, Milwaukee workers would be eligible for up to five sick days a year if privately employed in a business of fewer than 10 workers, and up to nine days at larger firms. An employer that already provides paid leave, notably personal days or vacation, might get a pass. Still, the Metropolitan Milwaukee Association of Commerce insists the change would kill jobs "by making Milwaukee a high-cost island in which to do business." It doesn't acknowledge the possibility that new employer costs might be outweighed by reduced turnover and recruitment expenses.
In San Francisco, both the Chamber of Commerce and the Golden Gate Restaurant Assn. had similar qualms before its law took effect in 2007. Kevin Westlye, the association's executive director, says members assumed that, given the city's high minimum wage ($9.79) and mandated health insurance, paid sick leave was "strike three." The first two mandates still rankle, but paid sick days "is the best public policy for the least cost. Do you want your server coughing over your food?" The nightmare vision restaurateurs had of organized sickouts and staffers splitting "to go see the Giants play on a Friday," he says, hasn't panned out.
There's a pattern here. Washington declines to raise the federal minimum wage during hard times, and states tend to go ahead and do so. There's no question that the aftermath of the Great Recession is a tricky time to impose new costs, even if this is the right move for fairness and public health. It's a mistake for cities to "undertake a social justice agenda" and "ideologically impose" such mandates, says Kathryn S. Wylde, president of the Partnership for New York City, which represents major businesses. She's convinced of ill effects from the pending New York City proposal yet doesn't deny a popular allure. There's a certain inevitability to paid sick leave; as even Wylde concedes, "Who can argue that somebody should be cooking in a restaurant with a contagious flu?" Let the lumpy red couch in Milwaukee be used for reading, not recuperating.
In 2006, with the Egyptian economy on course for its biggest growth in at least two decades, Con O'Donnell's business was in trouble. Sarmady Communications, his Cairo-based digital media company, was struggling to attract advertisers to its websites. "Our business is creating content and selling advertising, and we ended up saying, 'do you want us to do a website for you?' We would do those things to have some cash flow."
Four years later, Sarmady has three offices, and its sports and entertainment websites are awash with advertisements from companies such as Toyota Motor (TM), BMW, adidas, and Telecom Egypt. Revenue more than tripled, to $2 million in 2009, and may reach $4.3 million this year, O'Donnell said.
The turnaround reflects new marketing strategies across the Middle East region of 22 countries and more than 300 million people. Over the past two years companies have begun to increase spending online, taking advantage of the growing number of Internet users and inexpensive multimedia technologies to advertise their products.
Spending on online advertising in the Arab world may surge to about $400 million within four years from about $90 million in 2009, said Samih Toukan, chief executive of Jabbar Internet Group, which owns online businesses such as e-commerce website Souq.com. That's in contrast to the recent performance of online advertising worldwide, which fell 2.4 percent in 2009, to $26.4 billion, research group IDC said in March.
A growing number of Arab businesses are "looking at the return on their [ad] investment and the best way to track that is online," said Husni Khuffash, Google's (GOOG) regional manager for the United Arab Emirates, Lower Gulf, and Levant.
Large Internet companies are taking note of the region's recent vigor. Last year, Yahoo!, owner of the second-most-popular U.S. search engine, paid $164 million for Arabic-language Internet venture Maktoob.com, which owns e-mail, search, auction, and entertainment websites. In 2008, Vodafone Egypt took a majority stake in Sarmady.
"There is a lot of room for advertising to grow, unlike other mature markets," says Ahmed Nassef, managing director for Yahoo! in the Middle East. "The numbers are there, and we have a vibrant advertising market" of as much as $9 billion in the Gulf Arab countries and elsewhere in the region, he says. Ad sales at Yahoo! Maktoob expanded more than 50 percent in 2009, says Nassef.
Microsoft's (MSFT) MSN gained first-mover advantage five years ago, with an Arabic version of its portal operated by LinkdotNet, an Egyptian company that owns nine sports, financial service, and entertainment ventures. The company now also operates MSN North Africa and another site dedicated to Pakistan.
Online ads are "doing super well; it surprises most people," says Karim Bichara, the 35-year-old CEO of LinkdotNet. The company expects revenue this year to surge 110 percent.
In February, LinkdotNet's advertising arm, Connect Ads, signed an agreement to sell ads in the region for social media site Facebook. Last month, Sarmady launched the Arabic-language version of the official website of the National Basketball Assn., which has a strong following in Arab nations, including Lebanon, Jordan, and the Arab Emirates.
Still, challenges abound for online operators in the Middle East. Broadband penetration has picked up only in the past few years and remains low—12 percent in 2009, according to a study by the Dubai Press Club, compared with 64 percent in North America.
That's pushing many online ad and content companies to tap the mobile phone market, which has more than 230 million users in the region, according to Jawad Abbassi, general manager of Amman-based research company Arab Advisors Group.
Of Sarmady's projected revenue this year, 40 percent will come from ads on the cellular applications of websites. Its flagship, sports website FilGoal.com, has already attracted campaigns from such advertisers as Egyptian vehicle assembler and distributor GB Auto.
The lack of content is also a potential stumbling block. While 5 percent of Internet users worldwide are Arabs, only 1 percent of content is in Arabic, Nassef of Yahoo says. "If we grow content, that's going to increase user engagement online, and it will help grow the industry too."
The bottom line: Internet advertising is growing fast in the Arab world. Low broadband penetration and lack of content in Arabic are challenges.
Obama examines some of the effects of a spreading crisis Larry Downing/Reuters
As the Gulf spill threatens to sink BP and damage a Presidency, it's time for Obama to rally the U.S. around tough, fair regulation—for the good of capitalism
With failure heaped upon failure in the Gulf of Mexico, the environmental disaster now threatens the viability of not only a vast corporation but also a U.S. Presidency. The buck stops with both—one financially, the other politically. Can either recover?
The markets sent ominous signals about BP's (BP) future once it became clear over the Memorial Day Weekend that the top-kill plugging maneuver had not worked. In the Gulf, hurricane season has arrived, bringing with it the prospect of fierce storms chasing rescue ships to shore and spreading the sickening oil slick farther along the southern coast. A long, grim summer seems all but certain.
Its shares sharply depleted, BP, the largest oil and gas producer in the U.S., suddenly seems vulnerable to a breakup or takeover. In Washington, the Obama team appears to be flailing. Trying to assert some form of authority, the President vowed to bring wrongdoers to justice. The promise seemed mostly like a distraction from frustrating reality: In the short term, President Obama can do little, if anything, to stanch the gushing well.
As much as any other challenge—Wall Street, health care, Afghanistan—the oil spill may define Obama as a leader. He either will find a way to rise to this occasion and make some broader use of the crisis in the Gulf, or it will permanently taint him.
Deficient Oversight
This is a moment to think big and creatively. As distant as risky drilling rigs off Louisiana may seem from the New York financial laboratories where wizard bankers synthesized subprime credit derivatives, Obama could explain the important connections: how, after decades of antiregulatory fundamentalism in Washington, the feckless Minerals Management Service became the Securities & Exchange Commission of the oil business.
It is no coincidence that staff members at both agencies watched pornography on government computers when they should have been monitoring their respective beats. Although corruption and incompetence seem to have run deeper at the soon-to-be-dismantled MMS, the zeitgeist of the two places was similar, according to investigations and congressional hearings: Industry was to be trusted, even when government overseers had no more idea what transpired on the trading floor at Lehman Brothers or Bear Stearns than they did on the ocean floor beneath the Gulf of Mexico.
The question is: What will Obama do about it?
One route to political rehabilitation would be to redefine how government interacts with business. The goal he should articulate is protecting capitalism—and the society it's intended to serve—from the tendency of the profit-minded to go to extremes.
Takeover Prospects
Profit-minded investors, meanwhile, have soured on BP. "We are very negative on the prospects for BP, and this situation has a real possibility of breaking the company," London-based investment bank Arbuthnot Securities said in a June 1 research note. That day the British energy giant's shares dropped as much as 17 percent in London, their biggest one-day decline in 18 years. The company's stock flattened on June 2, closing down 34 percent since the Deepwater Horizon exploded Apr. 20. That erased more than $58 billion (40 billion pounds) from BP's value.
Ivor Pether, who helps manage $9.2 billion at Royal London Asset Management, including BP stock, told Bloomberg News: "We're getting into share price territory where analysts speculate about takeover possibilities, because the loss of market value is much greater than the estimated 'worst case' costs." Buyers haven't surfaced yet, he added, "because the near-term uncertainty is so high." BP spokeswoman Sheila Williams declined to comment.
The company's woes grew worse when the Obama Administration announced June 1 that it will investigate potential criminal and civil violations related to the spill. "We will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law," U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder said. While Holder didn't get into particulars, troubling facts have already surfaced. The House Energy & Commerce Committee released internal BP e-mail showing that company employees had worried six weeks before the rig explosion that workers were struggling to control the well below. A criminal indictment of BP and other companies involved in the accident—perhaps for infractions of the Clean Water Act or other environmental laws—"is very likely," David M. Uhlmann, a former chief of the Justice Dept.'s environmental crimes section, told Bloomberg. Uhlmann, who now teaches at the University of Michigan Law School, pointed out that after the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska in 1989, ExxonMobil (XOM) pleaded guilty to charges of that variety.
Another potential line of prosecutorial inquiry, and one that could have more severe effects on BP, would focus on whether executives lied in formal statements to the government. Depending on how high up the chain of command the probe went, a cover-up investigation could seal the fate of Chief Executive Tony Hayward and underscore questions about BP remaining independent. The company has said it will cooperate with investigators.
White House in Control?
While the FBI explores the nuances of pollution law, the White House promises daily to stem damage to the Gulf coastline and economy. "I'm confident people are going to look back and say this Administration was on top of what was an unprecedented crisis," Obama has told reporters. That seems increasingly doubtful. However the destructive gusher is stopped, Obama will have been the man in charge when we all realized that the White House isn't "on top of" much of anything when it comes to deep-sea oil.
The federal government that Obama inherited in 2009 had been more or less uninterested in keeping up with business over the course of three decades. "Industry has developed technology the government doesn't understand," says Richard B. Stewart, a professor of environmental law at New York University Law School.
As happened in the wake of the collapse of some of Wall Street's most storied investment banks, we are already beginning to learn that BP's internal communications show a reluctance to address what should have been dire warning signs. BP e-mail obtained by the House Energy Committee reveal that anxiety about the safety and soundness of the BP well was intensifying more than a month before the Apr. 20 blowout. This evidence, while fragmentary and inconclusive, may cast doubt on BP's contention after the explosion that the company was caught entirely by surprise.
A Mar. 10 e-mail from BP executive Scherie Douglas to Frank Patton, an MMS drilling engineer, said the company planned to sever the pipe connecting the well to the rig and then plug the hole. "We are in the midst of a well control situation on MC 252 #001 and we have stuck pipe," Douglas wrote, referring to the subsea area Mississippi Canyon 252. "We are bringing out equipment to begin operations to sever the drillpipe, plugback the well and bypass." BP received verbal approval from an unnamed MMS official at 11 p.m. on Mar. 11 to insert a cement plug at a shallower depth than normally would have been required after the hole caved in on the drilling equipment, the e-mail showed. Asked about these exchanges, a company spokesman said: "We have always said it was a complex accident. We await a full report."
The Myth of Industry Infallibility
As investigators reconstruct events leading up to Apr. 20, Sarah S. Elkind, an historian of politics and the environment at San Diego State University, warns against focusing on minutiae to the exclusion of the big picture. Within the MMS, she says, "The employees followed cues from political appointees during the Bush Administration and earlier Administrations, going back to 1980, and including Democrats as well as Republicans. The message was that government doesn't work, and industry always knows what it's doing. What did we expect the employees to do?"
Industry, of course, doesn't always know what it's doing, NYU's Stewart notes. He headed the Justice Dept.'s environmental division in March 1989, when the Exxon Valdez dumped 250,000 barrels of crude into Alaska's Prince William Sound. For 21 years, until BP, that was the record U.S. oil spill. After the Valdez ran aground, it became clear that the industry lacked the plans or equipment to contain a spill of that magnitude, Stewart says. "Government had delegated most cleanup responsibility to the oil companies, and their response capability was in mothballs."
Congress responded belatedly with legislation in 1990 that required safer supertankers and a mechanism for the U.S. Coast Guard and other agencies to coordinate a cleanup—on the water's surface. That didn't help prepare for a blowout a mile below. Once again, government had deferred to the oil industry, and the giant company in question wasn't ready for a monumental snafu.
Obama has spoken expansively about restoring respect for government service. His occasionally populist rhetoric aside, he has been solicitous of corporate interests, too. Recall the astonishing bailout of General Motors. Just three weeks before the Deepwater Horizon exploded, the President had proposed expanding offshore oil exploration, in part as a bid for Republican votes for stalled energy and climate legislation. At the time, Obama praised advances in drilling technology.
"Where I was wrong," he said on May 27, "was in my belief that the oil companies had their act together when it came to worst-case scenarios." By his own admission, this product of Harvard Law School and liberal South Side Chicago politics was mesmerized, along with everyone else, by the myth of industry omnipotence.
Interior Dept. Lapses
The President also acknowledged that his Interior Secretary, Ken Salazar, who oversees the MMS, hadn't moved quickly enough to root out favoritism and laxity. In 2009, BP was granted a "categorical exclusion" that allowed the Deepwater Horizon to operate without analysis required by the National Environmental Policy Act. Obama said changes had been planned at Interior. "If they were happening fast enough, [BP's safety glitches] might have been caught."
In congressional testimony, Salazar has blamed the environmental lapse on a statutory 30-day deadline on the permitting process. The Administration says it will seek to extend that time limit to 90 days. Salazar exacerbated his department's bumbling image by repeatedly boasting about having a "boot on the neck" of BP. He even suggested that the company would be pushed "out of the way" if it didn't move faster. The tough-guy talk wasn't convincing. The government lacks the necessary engineers, undersea robots, and scientific expertise. This remains BP's show.
The director of the MMS is gone, and the agency has been divided in three, so that its collection of oil royalties won't undermine its policing function. Obama has imposed a six-month moratorium on new permits for deepwater wells. The sale of exploration leases in the Gulf of Mexico and off Virginia has been suspended. A big Arctic energy project will be delayed. The government will require tougher certification of the sort of equipment—the notorious "blowout preventer"—that failed on the Deepwater Horizon.
That's not stopping some Republicans from equating Obama's response to the crisis to President George W. Bush's lack of urgency in reacting to Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The National Republican Senatorial Committee is running a Web video juxtaposing candidate Obama's words about Katrina—"Never again"—with those of liberal commentators castigating him for acting "lackadaisical" about the Gulf crisis and seeming as ineffective as "a Vatican observer."
More measured critics recognize that neither party has covered itself with glory. "The truth of the matter is nobody knows how to fix this damned thing," Senator Lindsey Graham, a South Carolina Republican, told reporters, "and if they know how, they need to step up."
The Case for Better Regulation
Until someone figures out how to fix BP's leak, the idea the President should stress is how to reframe the debate about oil, investment banking, and other technologically sophisticated industries. Obama should argue that we need better government oversight of business, not to harm it, but to nurture it. He could invoke the memory of the New Deal regulatory revolution, which shielded industry and finance from calls for socialism after the Great Depression.
He won't win over Tea Partiers who see the New Deal (and the income tax and civil rights laws) as constitutional infringements. But a majority in America may well be receptive to an appeal that Democratic pollster Douglas E. Schoen described this way in a roundtable on the politics of the spill on washingtonpost.com: "We are all in this together—not as corporations or populists, not as Democrats or Republicans, but as Americans working to solve the problem collectively." In a speech in Pittsburgh on the afternoon of June 2, Obama started in this direction, then swerved toward partisanship. The Republican agenda, he said, "basically offers two answers to every problem we face: more tax breaks for the wealthy and fewer rules for corporations."
For the foreseeable future, we need an oil industry. It should be one that worries about tough inspections so it avoids another Deepwater Horizon. For the longer term, as Obama argued in Pittsburgh, we need a comprehensive climate and energy bill that will create incentives to find alternatives to oil retrieved at great expense from the ocean depths or purchased from pernicious foreign sources.
In the same spirit, pending financial reform legislation aims to insulate Wall Street from its worst instincts and make it less of a threat to the rest of us. Bills waiting to be reconciled by the House and Senate would give regulators more authority to monitor complex securities, simple mortgages, and all manner of transactions in between. Financial firms would come under pressure to reduce debt and hold more capital in reserve. If a financial outfit began to fail, regulators would have more tools to disassemble it before a traumatic collapse.
Obama ran for President emphasizing results. Businesspeople like to talk about results, too. After a generation of operating according to a simplistic notion that defined government oversight as essentially poisonous to corporate success, now would be an opportune time to rally the country around an ideal of tough, fair regulation for the good of business and the customers it serves.
Barrett is an assistant managing editor at Bloomberg Businessweek. With reporting by Stanley Reed, Brian Swint, Joe Carroll, Jim Efstathiou Jr., and Justin Blum.
In a 1980 interview, Gabriel GarcÃa 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. GarcÃa 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.
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 OrtÃz, 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.”
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 GarcÃa 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 GarcÃa 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.↩
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