The Garrida Sisters, a Story of Courage and Conviction
10 Oct. — 16 Oct. 2024
"The regime’s biggest mistake was putting us in prison." Angélica Garrido, Cuban mother of 3, served three years for chanting libertad.
Hola, welcome, and gracias for being here.
New arrests of independent journalists, new punishments for criticizing the regime online, worsening reprisals and harassment of political prisoners’ families—could easily be this week’s three scoops.
But sometimes one story captures the pain and courage of Cuban political prisoners so well that it begs to be told.
The Garrida sisters’ unjust incarceration vividly conveys what happens—and has happened since the 1959 revolution—to Cubans who speak out against their government. Angélica (mother of 2) and María Cristina Garrido (mother of 3) were violently arrested on July 12, 2021, one day after participating in the overwhelmingly peaceful anti-regime protests that swept across the country on July 11th and 12th, 2021.
I recommend this powerful 3-minute subtitled video of the significance of 11J for anyone who wants to know more.
Prosecutors charged the sisters with assault, instigating delinquency, public disorder, and disobedience. Angélica and María Cristina were sentenced to three and four years, respectively,
María Cristina has continued to be vocal in prison, refusing to chant revolutionary slogans and consistently demanding libertad. For that, she’s been beaten, held in isolation cells, and denied medical care. In February of 2023, the constant abuses prompted the sisters and several other female prisoners to write a letter addressed to Cuba’s appointed president, Miguel Díaz Canel, demanding freedom for all political prisoners. They signed the document in their blood and smuggled it out of prison.
Since their arrest, the sisters’ families have suffered constant harassment and reprisals by authorities. Both their parents died during their imprisonment, their father in August of 2022, their mother in December of that year. “She died begging for her daughters’ liberty,” said Angélica’s husband, Luis Rodríguez Pérez, after the mother’s death.
The Garrido sisters are not the only women victims of the regime. Madrid-based NGO Prisoners Defenders has documented 119 female prisoners of conscience in Cuban jails. That number was in the hundreds in the months following 11J. This week the NGO, along with a group of exiled Cuban women activists representing more than twenty organizations, presented its findings at the UN’s Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW).
The NGOs’ work offers a rare opportunity to examine prison conditions in Cuba, which does not permit international monitoring of its jails nor reports on their conditions. The NGOs documented a consistent pattern of abuse of female activists and independent journalists, including violent arrests, disappearances for days and weeks, forced chanting of revolutionary slogans, denial of medical attention, and obligatory “re-education” programs.
Throughout their ordeal, the Garrido sisters relied on support from similar civil rights groups to pressure the regime for their release or better treatment. Angélica continues that effort from her home these days. She was freed in July, having completed her sentence. But her sister remains in prison.
In a recent interview with The Center for Documentation of Cuban Prisons Angélica detailed the intense abuse, abysmal conditions, and constant humiliation female political prisoners face. I’ve translated (and edited for length) the interview, which is below.
Angélica’s outspokenness will almost certainly bring more reprisals for her, her imprisoned sister, and their families. But she shows no signs of backing down, saying “Victory isn’t in my liberation. Liberation will be our victory.”
That kind of defiance and passion for freedom must keep Cuba’s political and military elites up at night. Long may they toss and turn.
Translated and abridged interview of Angélica by Observatorio de Prisiones Cubanas
Did you feel discriminated against in prison?
Because of my ideology, from the first moment. Our treatment was very severe by the guards. We also felt excluded by the other inmates, who looked down on us due to years of indoctrination. Political prisoners and prisoners of conscience should not be in the same quarters as ordinary prisoners. The units in which I was placed had inmates who had been there for many years, some repeat offenders. That caused problems for my sister and me.
How many inmates did you live with and what were the living conditions like?
When we entered Guatao Prison, the units were full, including the area of isolation cells (solitary confinement), where there were prisoners from 11J. In unit 5, for example, for each galley there were about 12 berths, all full, with half a meter of distance between them. The heat was unbearable, there was no ventilation and on top of that we had to sleep with the light on. . . . Hygiene was terrible. In general, there was no water, they turned it on by schedules. The sink was very close to the place where one did her business, for which there were only two toilets. Most of the bathrooms were non-functioning and had no doors. Women had to bathe in the courtyard. The drains were overflowing.
Were you in solitary confinement?
I spent 63 days in the isolation cells of Unit 8. They are very small, they have no water. The water is brought to you in cleaning buckets, that's why I got so sick during those days. They are unventilated and the mattresses are full of bed bugs and lice. They don't take you out in the sun there and if you feel bad, you have to shout for a doctor to come two hours or three hours later. If you still feel bad afterwards, the doctor doesn't come anymore.
Are female inmates guaranteed emergency care?
No. When an inmate fainted, there was no wheelchair or stretcher or anything. The other inmates had to carry her on a bunk board and take her to the medical post, which is not inside the prison area. Once a week, the re-educator, if she is good, stops by so that the inmates can write down in a notebook if they need a check-up or a consultation. But specialists come when they remember. If inmates need to be hospitalized for any reason, months pass. There are women who are practically going blind or dying from diabetes and other diseases, and the authorities do nothing.
You mentioned earlier that you were seen by a psychiatrist. Is that usual for the rest of the inmates?
No, the inmates are not given psychological or psychiatric assistance. There are women imprisoned there for consuming drugs, for example. But these women do not sleep because they do not have medicines to help them. After my second hunger strike, I was taken to a civilian psychologist, at least that’s what she told me she was. All of this is handled by State Security, which promotes differentiated treatment of political prisoners and prisoners of conscience when this type of action occurs.
Do you think there are female prisoners who are treated better than others?
Of course. In the prison there is business between some inmates and officers. For example, one of the re-educators wanted to take away my sister’s bed to give it to an inmate jailed for stealing. When we wanted to get some sun, they took some women out and but not us. When we entered the prison, we were threatened that we would not have visitors if we did not get vaccinated, but other women were allowed to go unvaccinated. That time they did not let our families in.
Were you interrogated by State Security while you were imprisoned?
Yes. The interrogations were with them alone, because it was not beneficial for them that a prison officer was present. On one occasion, Officer Abel told me that I had to cooperate [with State Security] if I wanted things to be better for me. I told him that my principles were not negotiable even with my freedom. Later, the interrogations increased when my sister, Lizandra Góngora (another 11J political prisoner), and I declared ourselves “plantadas” (an official proclamation of refusing to submit to the regime). I was in my underwear because I wouldn’t wear a common prisoner uniform, and someone supposedly named Daniel came to threaten me. He told me that if I continued like this there could be severe consequences for María Cristina and Lizandra, who had longer sentences than mine. I repeated that my position was non-negotiable, that we were innocent and demanded immediate freedom.
Did you suffer any kind of torture during those three years?
Not physical, they tried to control themselves with us. But psychological yes. We hadn't been in Guatao for a month when I was separated from my sister. I didn't see her for 45 days, even though we were only a few meters away. We had to complain forcefully to a State Security officer so that they would allow us to see each other for at least ten minutes once a week. In addition, our family visits were separate. We were only brought together during my mother's last three visits, before she passed away. Other times they told us that we were going to have a visit and then it was a lie.
One day I asked permission to go visit my father, who was in the nun’s home in Bejucal. State Security took seven months to authorize it and they only agreed when I made a complaint by phone that went public. For anything they put us in the punishment cell, so that our profile would be kept low. They continue to do all this with impunity and it was the reason why I got facial peripheral paralysis. But their biggest mistake was to put us in prison because we saw the inhumane way in which prisoners live in Cuba, without any rights, and we opened many people’s eyes.
Have you ever been handcuffed or otherwise restrained?
Cuffs, yes. I once witnessed a violet beating by two officers against a minor. I asked for them to be removed from their posts and they took me handcuffed to the headquarters. When my father died, my sister and I were taken away to the wake in handcuffs. They only let us stay for half an hour and separately. My mother died three months later and they also took me in handcuffs, 45 minutes. Common prisoners are given two hours to be at the wake and sometimes even at the funeral, but not us.
Did you know of any deaths or attempted suicides in state custody?
Suicide attempts, a few. I saw a girl in Camp Ceiba 4 take a knife to cut her wrists as a result of the repression and psychological torture of Aylin, the head of Interior Order. Luckily we were able to help her and remove the blade in time. Those things affect you a lot. In prison, the prisoners also bite their arms, their thighs, because there is too much repression and that is the way they have to drain anger, pain, injustice. Traumatic, is the word.
Were you allowed to freely practice your Christian faith inside the prison?
We were several Christian women who held prayer meetings, until they suspended them. In fact, my sister was transferred to another unit to avoid such meetings. Later they allowed me to seek religious support, but not my sister. We had to fight to get it authorized. Others were also denied. Most of the women they allowed to have access to religious support were there to watch us.
Let's talk about the food...
The food is very little and poorly made or spoiled. At 6:00 in the morning they gave me for breakfast a tea of mango or avocado leaf, . . . or a spoiled juice, which seemed more like wine; a hot and spoiled jam —when they gave it— and a sour bread. For lunch and dinner, a small portion. Sometimes a more substantive meal, when they remembered. The water is from the cistern and from there they have even taken dead dogs. Sometimes, in cold weather, they would serve an unsweetened tea, depending on which officer was there. In Cuban prisons there is a lot of hunger. There are malnourished women who need a balanced diet and are not given it.
Could you wear personal clothes in prison or just uniforms?
Uniform, both in the prison and in the work camp, which is a problem due to the heat and poor ventilation. We even got dermatitis. When they switch you from one unit to another, they require that the clothes be the same color and type of fabric [of the new unit]. But there was a problem with that because the chiefs of Interior Order requisitioned clothes that they believed were not in accordance with the regulations and then said that they burned them, but it was a lie. They wore them.
Did they supply you with bedding?
Never. When they have bedding, the new inmates get two sheets. The same with the uniform. There are prisoners who have been wearing the same uniform for three, four, five years, all worn out, falling apart. There are also no conditions for washing. You have to wait for the water to be turned on. . . they only give you one bath soap and one washing soap per month and toothpaste every two months. No toilet paper or sanitary napkins.
Could you communicate regularly with your family?
In prison, once a week, five, ten minutes. In the work camp, the phones are open every day, but broken, and the authorities don't fix them because they don't care. Women spend days, weeks, months without being able to communicate with their family. Sometimes they have to wait for a leave/pass to see on their children. When I went to disciplinary court, I was without a phone for two months, without knowing about my family, except when another prisoner did me the favor of calling. They also took away my family visit.
Did your family members suffer reprisals for your imprisonment?
Yes, my husband currently doesn't work because State Security called his boss and told her she had to expel him. He has also been quoted many times and threatened with imprisonment if he does not stop publishing. My children were once not allowed to participate in an activity for Children's Day; That night they did not sleep. We have a checkpoint at the corner of the street. Everywhere we receive reprisals, this is not over.
Do you think the authorities intend to minimize the difference between life in prison and in freedom, as should be their goal?
We came to the conclusion that they need prisoners as cheap labor. Women who are in camps, for example, clean hospitals, offices. Many are convicted of common crimes and have good behavior, but they are not given parole until they are about to serve out their sentences. They do not care about their health, that their fertile years have passed, that their families are collapsing, that their children are in homes for children without filial protection. There is a lot of repression and the quality of life is horrible. Instead of creating an atmosphere of peace so that imprisonment does not leave so many negative impacts, they treat us terribly.
Ana, this is heartbreaking. It’s unconscionable that this type of treatment still exists. The Garrida Sisters are so brave to stand by their convictions even when punished. They are role models for what standing up for freedom can cost and yet they continue.