Alejandro Regueiro on lessons from growing up in communist Cuba

The faux “white privilege guilt,” virtue signaling, and self-flagellation I see from a handful of real and social media white friends is nauseating. As a Hispanic, my “privilege” is to watch both sides [left and right] make utter fools of themselves, and laugh at their idiocy. As someone born in a communist country [Cuba], and educated well in communist tactics by my father, I’ve been warning friends of the build up to this for 30 years.

The most important thing that my dad taught me about dealing with communists (real ones), was to never give one inch. No compromise. As an example, he always refused to participate when invited to join in on “community work” detail, like cutting sugar cane on the weekend. He was the only person employed in the entire educational system of Cuba that refused to join the union. He was very outspoken, and a college director with great influence, yet while he could name 42 friends and acquaintances that were made paredóns (put against a wall and shot), they respected (or feared) him and wouldn’t touch him. And he had rabid communist militares coming to his classes in full uniform and carrying sidearms.

My parents regularly bought meat (and other foodstuffs) on the black market (direct from farmers and ranchers). Under communism, the prison sentence for buying beef from them was greater than that for infanticide. This in a country that just a few years prior was something around 98% Roman Catholic. The local AK-47 toting neighborhood CDR [Committees for the Defense of the Revolution] commissar could demand to search your bags, car or house at any time. People became fearful of their neighbors snitching on them. My mom would grind coffee at 3 or 4 AM so that neighbors wouldn't smell it.

The mass exodus of talent between '59-'61 was so high, that at 25 or 26 years old, with only a BSME from Rensselaer [Polytechnic Institute], my dad was hired by the Central University to become the founding director of the mechanical engineering school, as a result of a student uprising (they were very unhappy with the quality of the program that had been started a year earlier). When he arrived, a male secretary (unheard of in 1960's Latin America) had been assigned to him. That secretary was a military intelligence officer. My dad was also called twice to meetings with Che Guevara (that's a whole other set of stories about the incompetence of central planning), as Che was the "Minister of Industry" at the time. In early 1966, there was a purge, and all Cubans who were not party members were expelled from their jobs; this included my dad and many of his friends and employees at the university. The President of the university was replaced by a partly loyalist with a 6th grade education.

Native born Americans have a very hard time understanding when I tell them some of these stories, as witnessed by their extremely confused looks and naive questions. I think what's happened over the last 3 months (on top of the 3 years), has them reconsidering some of what they've been hearing from me for 30 years. Communism is hell on earth.

~ Alejandro Regueiro, Facebook post, June 7, 2020