A Cuban's Reaction to the Castro Resignation

This morning I decided to fight off a case of jet lag from my return to Miami from Peru by stopping in my favorite Starbucks (located at 749 Lincoln Road in Miami Beach). This is where I usually can find Javier Leon, a 40-year old financial planner living in Miami. His real first name is Igor, since his Cuban father wanted to give him a respected, Communist-sounding name in 1967. He was born in the United States, but his family had deep nationalistic feelings toward their native Cuba. He opted to go by his middle game in 1975, mostly as a result of the popularity of Young Frankenstein in the 1970's.

I spot Javier sitting in this usual seat by the window, with a Miami Herald in front of him and a cup of coffee close to his lips. We exchange pleasantries and discuss my recent trip to Peru before I point to the newspaper and ask if there is anything going on in the world. He flips over the front page and matter-of-factly says, "Well, Castro resigned."

With a look of surprise I offer, "That's a good thing. Right?"

"Yes and no," Javier responds.

He described his reaction to the news as a cross between cautiously optimistic and status quo. With Fidel Castro's brother, Raul, assuming the role of President, he believes the same policies will be followed. In addition, as long as Fidel is living, he will undoubtedly have a hand in the country's affairs. However, since both men are up in age (Fidel is 81 and Raul is 76), the feeling is a significant change may a bit closer.

"These guys can't live forever," he says, almost as if to reassure himself. "It is very difficult for me awaiting the day a person dies, but the people are very hungry for a change."

He describes similar feelings surfaced in the community when it was rumored that Fidel had died last August. "There was a little more excitement then versus now," he explains. When queried for the reason, he offers that perhaps it was because with Fidel completely out of the picture, it would be easier for his brother to make changes.

Javier opens his briefcase and produces the backgammon board that is all too familiar. We typically play 5-game matches during our morning meetings. "Time for a match," he asks. I nod. As we set up the pieces he pauses. "I have never stepped foot on my parents' homeland. There are family members I have never met. Some have died already. But I promised my mom that if the country were ever free, I would visit every one of them."

I let the words resonate for a moment. "I hope you see them soon," I said.

Javier smiles, and rolls the dice.