“Hasta aquí llegaste Yoani" ("This is as far as you go, Yoani") and “Ya se te acabaron las payasadas," ("Your clowning is over") said the Cuban thugs who sequestered and beat the influential Cuban bloggers Yoani Sanchez, and her blogging friends Claudia Cadelo, Orlando Luis Pardo, and Ciro Díaz. According to Yoani, and Claudia, who attempted tweeting the event, the foursome were thrown into unmarked cars, pummeled and choked, then tossed like so much rubbish, blocks from where they were.
This morning, Yoani took to her blog to describe the event, as did Claudia. Facebook and Twitter are awash in links and commentary, brief messages of solidarity, and profile pictures changed to an image of Yoani's face. And here am I, blogging about it too.
Visibility on the web and in the media is the only thing protecting Yoani and her courageous friends, who most recently opened a school for bloggers in Cuba. I urge my blogging friends to post something about Yoani, too, even if it's only a link to her site. Tweet #YoaniSanchez. Follow her on Twitter. Put up a link on Facebook.
The scum who picked up Yoani yesterday went nameless because they are cowards. But the people in Cuba who are unafraid to speak shout their names in kilobytes. Help them turn up the volume.
Below, is my translation of an excerpt from Orlando Pardo's post at Penultimos Dias:
Within seconds, Yoani and I had our arms twisted in a car imported from our
My head against the car's carpet, and Yoani with her feet in the air.
I couldn't see her, identifying her only because she would not be quiet
I heard her scream with the vehemence of a being more free than the planet itself
She had a Cuban man's knee nailed against her chest, and still she rebuked him
From that energy I borrowed the strength to revive a bit my own voice.
They told me to tell Yoani to be quiet.
That phrase, pronounced by three unknowns in the name of the Cuban State, sums up the obsolescence and obscenity of this country.
Tell Yoani to be quiet.
Tell Yoani to be quiet.
Tell Yoani to be quiet.
Despotically, they deposited us in a corner that I confused with the patio of a barracks.
I was dizzy.
I felt nauseous, felt like vomiting.
I could not move my neck.
I embraced Yoani (which I'd never done before).
She began to sob.
The greatest woman in Cuba seemed like an infant.
Because Yoani is such: the future of Cuba crystallized on a fragile and unstoppable body.
I kissed her head. Her hair pulled with such hate smelled like liberty.
Once.
Twice.
Ten.
Uncountable times I kissed her ageless head.
But I never told her to be quiet.
But I never told her to be quiet.
But I never told her to be quiet.
Orlando Luis Pardo
La Habana
Forgive the rough translation, all.
And finally, Yoani in her own words:
Todos Somos Yoani--We Are All Yoani--is the refrain of the day. If you can, si puedes, repeat it.
