One Day in December: Celia Sánchez and the Cuban Revolution (13 page)

Yet she had no confirmation of this. Nor, for that matter, even a rumor. She had to make a decision, and make it immediately. This dilemma was probably the most significant, and wrenching, of Celia’s life.

She and Frank had always been prepared to see all hell break loose once the uprising began, particularly since it was going to put an end to any lingering impression that the 26th of July Movement was a ragtag bunch of kids, rogues, and cowboys: it was going to emerge as an army, with soldiers dressed in green uniforms. In response to what was taking place in Santiago, or about to, the vengeance of Batista’s army would be unleashed all over Oriente, likely all over Cuba. In Frank’s plan, the militant groups were meant to take action as soon as the
Granma
arrived, and then quietly slip back into their normal lives. That is what she’d rehearsed with them, and what they were prepared to do. But it was essential that this happen on a very tight timetable. Delay and uncertainty were creating a new dynamic, throwing a wrench into the works. Her militants were being required to stay out longer than planned, and soon would be connected, in people’s minds, with the resistance they would hear about in Santiago. Celia weighed the consequences of their staying out longer. Who were the most vulnerable? Was she being asked to put the lives of Fidel and his men first, before the lives of her men
and women in the field? Protecting the arriving rebels was what all the planning had been for. She had done everything she could think of, so far, to protect Fidel; neither Frank nor she thought their revolution could go ahead without him. Frank’s plan had always been to stage an uprising
concurrent
with the
Granma
’s arrival. So, assuming the cabin cruiser had come ashore, though she didn’t know where, the question was what orders should Lalo give to the people spread out along the coast, waiting for the boat that probably had already landed?

The decision she had to make was ruthless either way. Send her people back to safety, and risk the rebels’ landing without help, exposed and unprotected? Or keep her people out there, in increasing danger of detection, and hope the boat they were waiting for came soon, and somewhere near Las Coloradas?

IN SANTIAGO, WHEN THE LADY
of the house chosen as headquarters, Susette Bueno Rousseau, saw Frank, she was not enthusiastic. Still, she opened the gate, asking him, “Is it time?” As the 26th of July members filed into her apartment (Oscar described it as “their beautiful home”), Susette, a heavyset woman of about thirty, launched into an argument with her red-faced husband. Frank simply ignored them, wasting no time in setting up a machine gun, as Oscar noticed a nursery. Frank posted lookouts at windows, telling them to avoid being seen by neighbors or passersby. Susette finally convinced her husband they should “just leave.” She quickly packed a suitcase with the things they needed, mostly for the baby. Somebody—not Frank—advised her to take all her jewelry and money: “We trust our comrades, but if we have to withdraw, these things could be in danger from the other side.” The couple left, carrying their baby who slept through it all, as more revolutionaries quietly arrived. A three-story building stood directly across from the apartment; Frank sent four people to occupy it. Someone arrived with a sack of uniforms and emptied the contents on the floor in one of the rooms. Frank was the first to put his on. Others followed. Then it was Oscar’s turn to get dressed in green gabardine. There were very few uniforms left, but he found one that fit. Haydée Santamaria helped him slip on the armband with its radical-looking red and black bands and 26th of July insignia in white stitching.

CELIA SET TO WORKING OUT
all the scenarios of what might have happened to the
Granma
. Had they been intercepted by the Coast Guard? Had they been delayed by weather—at this time of year it was changeable, and the Caribbean often rough. Or had they come ashore outside the designated area? As of that morning, they hadn’t shown up near Niquero or Pilón. Nor, she suspected, in the area including Media Luna and Campechuela. She kept returning to the issue that baffled her: Frank’s plan was an uprising concurrent with the landing. So did his having moved forward mean Fidel had landed? That uprising was understood as crossing the Rubicon. Not only would the police, the army, the
Guardia Rural
, and the paramilitaries be on alert, the government in Havana would be rudely awakened from its dreamy belief that the ragtag dissidents in the eastern provinces posed no serious threat. From now on, anyone who was young and looked even vaguely like a supporter of the 26th of July Movement would be fodder for the police and military intelligence. That description fit every one of her militants, on alert, waiting to go forward with attacks. Her people in the underground had been away from their jobs the day before, all of Thursday the 29th. Her truck drivers would be less suspicious—unless they were stopped and their trucks found to carry arms. Still, how many more hours could they cruise around and remain inconspicuous? These questions turned over and over in her mind. Her mission had been clear: they were there to assist the landing by camouflaging it; to make lightning attacks, then disappear, resume their lives. Each hour without word that the
Granma
had landed made this mission less possible to carry out.

The moment was crucial. If her choice was to protect her militants, she would need to call off the operation right away, to bring them in while there was still time for them to assert a presence at home, or even—since Lalo had come early—show up at their jobs. Being late or absent on this particular Friday, the 30th, would quickly become very dangerous. An epidemic of late-coming would surely catch the attention of some of the wrong people. Managers and coworkers would already have noticed who had been absent the previous day. The truck drivers had somewhat better cover, since they operated on their own, out on the roads, but still, they were accountable to their bosses.

The situation was agonizing. The lack of communications only made things worse. It is quite likely, by the way, that the memory of this terrible morning guided Celia later, once the war was underway, in pulling out all stops to build a system for keeping the Revolution’s commanders in contact with each other.

IN SANTIAGO, IN THE ROUSSEAU HOUSE
, shouts were heard from the street: “
Viva Cuba Libre! Viva Fidel Castro! Viva la revolución! Abajo Batista!
” Everybody knew that the time had come, and that Pepito Tey and his group had started the uprising when, at 7:00 a.m. exactly, the occupants of the Rousseau house heard gunfire. Tey and his men were attacking National Police Headquarters. The telephone began ringing off the hook. Frank was getting information and giving orders to the heads of the various action groups around the city. Some of the calls were from the Rousseaus’ neighbors, who were alarmed but nonetheless curious about the activities going on in the apartment. Gloria Cuadras and Ramon Alvarez monitored the radio, expecting to hear an alert, and discovered that all the stations continued to play music and run commercials.

WHILE CELIA STARED DOWN HER PREDICAMENT
, Lalo took a nap. When he awoke, she informed him of her decision: to call the operation off only if the
Granma
did not arrive by the next morning. Meaning she would try to maintain protection for the landing guerrillas for another full 24 hours. She ordered Lalo to go back to Niquero and stay put. As Lalo made the drive south to Niquero, he knew that they had entered new, even more dangerous territory. Celia had been specific in her orders: he and Manuel Fajardo were to wait out the day and night; he would, if it came to it, call the rescue operation off the following morning. Were she to learn that the landing had taken place, she would come to Niquero and inform him. If she hadn’t knocked on the icehouse door by nine the next morning, Saturday, December 1st, he was to leave and cancel all operations along the coast. She was stretching the operation as long as was conceivable.

She surely hoped Mongo would arrive soon to tell her that Fidel was at Cinco Palmas, that the rebels had all arrived in the night, into El Macho perhaps, and someone had brought Fidel to his house, as was the plan, instead of to her, in Ojo de Agua. If so, she would be
able to reduce almost certain losses. It is doubtful she went outside Crescencio’s house to walk around or visit any of the other houses in Ojo de Agua de Jerez; she would have shielded Crescencio’s neighbors from knowing she was there. Restless even in normal circumstances, she was now confined yet longer by the decision she had made. Her mind moved to the others, picked for their youth and willingness to take risks, hoping, as the day developed and Batista’s military got word of the uprising, that they wouldn’t get caught. She had to think beyond the possibility that Fidel would arrive that day. If by nine the next morning she had to call off her operation, she would need to assess the costs of the delay.

She had not yet met Fidel Castro, so her thoughts about him would not have been firsthand or personal. She must have had thoughts, too, about other men she had backed, starting with Eduardo Chibás: how her father had been a founder of Chibás’s Orthodox Party, Chibás’s visit to Pilón in 1948 on the campaign circuit, when she had sat on the podium, the only woman in a line of men. After Chibás, she had supported another politician who had turned out to be a flop, Emilio Ochoa—he had flown into the country unprepared, ignoring so much of the help waiting for him, and failed. What had come out of it? She had met and worked with various militant groups in nearly every city, and in every small town in all the coastal areas for years now, and for this reason the local people trusted her. Would Fidel Castro be just another letdown? The stakes were higher this time around, which would have made her feel even more desperate, and cooped up, after 48 hours, very little sleep, hundreds of cigarettes, and a million tiny cups of coffee, all leading to disappointment.

She may have put Fidel out of her mind, her heart with her people, and with Frank.

IN SANTIAGO, FRANK’S BATTLE
was well under way, and he was outnumbered and vulnerable. Some of the assaults he’d planned were successful, some fizzled, but they were widespread enough to dilute the military’s response. The most dramatic conflicts took place in the oldest part of town, where 26th of July soldiers led by Jorge Sotus threw grenades and incendiary bombs (Molotov cocktails, in fact) through open windows and doorways and against the façade of the Customs Police Maritime Headquarters.
This operation was a particular success: they were able to enter, acquire guns, and leave.

The Cuban army, ensconced in the Moncada Garrison, moved cautiously that day. The biggest attack was against the National Police Garrison, led by Pepito Tey, who with his 26th of July soldiers was able to enter the building. Otto Parellada’s group came down Padre Pico, entered the School of Visual Arts, crossed the courtyard, and got onto a roof overlooking the police station. They shot at the police running into the station’s courtyard. From there, they engaged the police in battle, with the advantage of firing from above, and were able to maintain that stronghold for most of the day. When the besieged police surrendered, the 26th of July soldiers freed prisoners from their cells and set fire to the building. This was a relatively successful operation, since they had held the police garrison until the afternoon and damaged the iconic building. Beyond that, they could go no further. Tey had been gunned down outside, and his body lay there, and was photographed, his blood splashed against the side of the building and running into the gutter.

Several of the 26th of July attackers arrived at Frank’s headquarters to tell him the news about Tey, as others told him news of the deaths of his friends Antonio Aloma and Otto Parellada. Frank and Jorge Sotus argued about what to do next. Lots of ad hoc attack plans were being put forth, and Frank vetoed them all. He was against taking off into the mountains, even though it had been one of the plans; he thought the trucks weren’t up to the trip. Somebody telephoned with news that the army had left the Moncada and was heading northeast on the Central Highway, to El Cobre, as well as to other points nearby. Frank decided that he would unilaterally declare a truce. They had accomplished their goals: any more action would cause a useless loss of lives and weapons. And it would no doubt surprise and confound the government forces to have the successful uprising suddenly go quiet. He told everyone to leave the headquarters, a few at a time; to leave all weapons behind; to hide in houses throughout Santiago, and stay there until further notice.

“Since there was no other alternative, I thought of various places to hide out,” Oscar remembers, but he settled on the home of an old guitarist, Emilio Carbonella, and his wife, Targila Planas.
A friend of Oscar’s, a young woman at the Institute, often visited the couple at 57 Reloj. “So there I went, sure they would not fail me,” although he could still hear gunshots and machine-gun fire in the streets as the old musician opened his door and took him in.

The army retook the city around 3:00 p.m., although details as to the hour conflict. After that, Santiago would descend more deeply than ever into corruption and sadistic and ruthless police tactics. When you consider the magnitude of the insult that the 26th of July Movement delivered, it is amazing there were so few casualties that day. Historians often call the uprising a bloodbath, but it was not. The greater number of losses was taken by the
batistianos
(eight), but the 26th of July’s three deaths were of enormous significance to the movement: Tey, Aloma, and Parellada were leaders, Frank’s partners from the beginning.

Frank had set out to distract the army, if only for a few hours, and he dumbfounded it. The army was holed up in the Moncada for eight hours. In over fifty years since the event, very little new information has surfaced, but it seems that Taras Domitro (and therefore Frank) actually did have inside information: some of Batista’s soldiers had refused to fight against the revolutionaries. This is corroborated by the fact that soon after as many as 67 soldiers were arrested and court-martialed. More cracks were appearing in Batista’s army. In Cuba, nobody has forgotten that Frank’s new army emerged that day, disciplined and real. Middle-class parents understood that their children had been the soldiers on an urban battlefield. And nobody was foolish enough to think that things would be the same afterward.