María Elena Mir Marrero

"I was at home when they knocked on my door. I didn't know who they were; they showed me an ID card and said, ‘You are under arrest, follow me.’ There was a car outside and I followed them. This had never happened to me before, although I had known people to whom it had happened. I thought, ‘These people have come for me.’ They took me away and brought me to the police station here in Guanabo. There, they sat me down on something they have inside, like a prison cell but bigger. They sat me there, locked the door with a padlock and bars, and left me there. I don't know what they did outside. Then they took me out of the bars where I was, blindfolded me, and put me in a car. That car started going round and round. I was blindfolded, so I didn't know. The car stopped, and I felt them getting me out. I felt a door open, some stairs going up, another door open, and they sat me down; the house was made of wood. Once I was sitting in a chair, they took off my blindfold, and I saw a table in front of me and two or three people who I later realized were security officers. The interrogation and threats began: that they would take away my parental rights, that this couldn't be, that this, that that. They offered me food, but I always had the audacity to say, “I'll starve to death,” and I didn't try anything: no water, no food, absolutely nothing, not even the cigarettes that were there. I can't tell you if I was there for two hours, three hours, I don't know how long I was there, because everything was about those people intimidating you, harassing you, instilling an unbelievable fear of them in me. And if I tell you one thing, it's that from that moment on, my conviction that I was not on the wrong path became even stronger. Perhaps if the verb had been different, perhaps if the way they projected themselves had not been so forceful; perhaps, but that's when I understood. At that very moment, sitting there, I understood that I am a very strong-willed, very rebellious person. I understood that if this bothers you, it's because it hurts you, and if it hurts you, it's because I'm right. And from that moment on, my conviction was stronger. We were in there for two, three, four hours, I don't know. They closed my eyes again, put me in the car, and left me in a remote area. There is a place called Barrera, like a curve, dark, dark. They opened the car, took off my blindfold, and left me standing there, with no means of transportation, with nothing. When I saw myself there, I didn't know where I was; I oriented myself by looking toward the light in front of me. I always said, “North, I have to go north,” because there was a very bright light. When I got out, I realized that a bus was passing by. I spoke to the driver—at that time the bus fare was 40 cents—and I said, ‘I don't have any money, but I need to get to Guanabo,’ and I made it home. From the moment I opened the door to my house, my son was in tears; my mother had picked him up; everyone was worried, no one knew where I was. And from that moment on, I said: things went wrong for them, they didn't convince me. In other words: if I took this step and I'm here, it's because I believe in it, because I feel it, because my conviction will prevail; and if one day they prove me wrong, maybe I'll change, but so far, to date, that hasn't happened. I don't think it will happen, because life, the problems we've been through, the situations we've faced, continue to give you the conviction that you're on the right path, that you're not wrong, that the freedoms we're born with are being crushed here in Cuba, and that if we don't raise our voices, who will? Who is going to shout it out? Who is going to say it? Who is going to defend this people? So I'm staying here."