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44 YEARS, 44 YEARS, 44 YEARS PLUS ?????

There have been so many movie comedies made about little island kingdoms and funny little men who make themselves out to be very, very important as Kings or Emperors. That's exactly what you have in Cuba, and all those Hollywood people who also fancy themselves so important get a thrill out of sitting at the feet of the Emperor in Havana. It'd be a laugh riot, if La Maxima Cucaracha had not killed so many people in those 44 years, if he had not imprisoned so many, if he had not driven so many away from their homeland, and enslaved millions more at peons' wages.

Now, who could play Castro in a farce such as this, and who could play Congresman Sam Farr rapturously sitting at La Maxima Cucarachas' feet, listening to him lecture about the wonders of Socialism while a nation rots all around him? But then, Sammy boy, they do have free medical care there, of a sort, don't they?

Oh, how about a little poetry?

The Night Before Christmas (in Cuba)
by Howard E. Morseburg

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the land,
No Christmas trees could be seen because they were banned.
And no stockings could be hung in the house anywhere,
(Cubans were lucky if they had any to wear!).
No Nikes, Nintendos, or roller-blades could be found,
There weren’t any toy stores anywhere around.
Ol’ Santa had skipped Cuba, ‘twas not he forgot,
For Castro had ordered…if sighted…he’ll be shot.

There’ll be no joy at Christmas, for Santa can’t go,
There’ll be no joy at Christmas, Fidel’s made it so!
There’s no freedom to worship, or just to critique,
In a Socialist system that’s not so unique.
The children must study the communist dictum,
The things they’re forbidden are part of the system.
Fidel is their Santa, though his beard is so black,
But he’s the sole reason their economy’s slack.

Let’s pray for Cuban children on this Christmas eve,
They won’t have a Christmas or Santa to believe,
There’ll be no tiny reindeer to bring them a gift,
There’s no Christmas joy to give their spirits a lift.
No toys under the tree, no fam’ly holiday,
No freedom of speech, nor freedom to pray,
So they’ll just go to school, then work in the fields too,
The government controls everything that they do!


There’s no joy at Christmas in a land that’s not free,
They don’t learn Christ’s story of the nativity.
There are no sparkling lights, there old friends dare not meet,
No carolers singing as they walk down the street.
It’s one more day of the year, there’s only more work,
Their Santa’s a black-bearded old Communist jerk.
There’ll be no joy at Christmas, Fidel’s made it so.
There’ll be no joy in Cuba…for Santa can’t go!


Copyright 2001 Howard E. Morseburg