Our
house was one city block long and sat on 7 acres. We had an Olympic
sized swimming pool along with a two bedroom cabana conjoined with a
full bar. There were 5 main bedrooms, two maids quarters with an
adjoining bath, 2 chauffeurs apartments with baths and a four car
garage. There was an industrial sized kitchen and pantry, 2 dining
rooms, and an office. The patio was 3/4s of a block long with sofas
and chairs. There was formal living room with grand piano. We had our
own well and water treatment plant and back up generating system. The
house had belonged to a minor government official like a county clerk
here. Ours was one of the smaller and less lavish houses in the
neighborhood. It didn't belong to us. We were allowed to live there
as special friends of the new government to entertain visiting
American dignitaries. I attended a private school where the skirt to
my uniform in today's dollars would be around 250.00. You had to wear
the specific uniform which was handmade and tailored in the most
expensive department store in downtown Havana. The tuition would be
around 300.00 a month now. It was a French School. All the homes
shared a lovely one acre park with playground and a live in attendant
and guard. The whole thing was fenced and locked to keep the peasants
out. My governess would play cards and more with him at least twice a
week while I played on the swings, slides and other industrial
playground equipment. It was like a carnival that I had all to
myself. After all, I really was just a peasant that had a priority
pass. No other child would even enter the park when I was there.
One
day a Russian freighter blew up in Havana harbor rattling the houses
inland for 30 miles. Everyone thought the Dominican Republic had
attacked and started shooting. The revolution had begun anew.
My
governess ran to the school, five blocks away to get me. As we
started through the vacant lot in front of the school the bullets
started hitting around us. I was trained to duck and run in a zigzag
pattern so I dragged her behind me as we ran from one clump of high
grass to the next. If we had stopped whoever was shooting at us would
have been able to target us.
After
what seemed like eternity, we popped out of the grass to what should
have been safety at the park but instead I found myself staring down
the barrel of an M1 rifle. He was the one who had been shooting at
us. My governess began screaming and crying, “why?”. I calmly
raised the little purse I had my hand in and told him to lower the
rifle or I would shoot. I actually had a 9mm Browning in the purse as
I was never unarmed and my mother was unable to shoot straight. Even
at 8, I was an expert marksman. He lowered the gun and we slowly
walked backwards, me no longer using the purse to hide the gun I had
aimed at him until we could seek shelter out of his sight.
My
governess was hysterical and I knew that I would have to tell my
father what happened when he came home condemning the man my
governess considered her boyfriend right up until that day to death.
I did what I was trained to do and reported the incident in detail.
My father left with his friend and one guard to get the park
attendant. They found him swinging from the overhead bars where he
had hanged himself.
That
is what life is like in a world where the elite have ruled. Even the
people you have freed, given economic freedom from unending poverty
and disease will try to kill you and bring back their masters rather
than take control of their destiny and face the unknown.
Some
call it Stockholm Syndrome but it is just plain fear of the unknown.
The
Devil you know is better than the Devil you don't.
Ah,
but the Devil you don't know may not be the Devil at all.
It
is the fear of change, responsibility and freedom that locks the
chains onto your legs and enslaves your mind.
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