Democratic Socialism Sounds New; I’ve Heard It Before — in Spanish

When communism took over in Cuba, my mother was a young teacher. One day, government officials came into her classroom and told the children to close their eyes, hold out their hands, and pray to God for a toy. When they opened their eyes, their hands were empty. “You see,” the officials said. “God doesn’t provide.”

Then they told the children to close their eyes again and pray to Fidel Castro. This time, when they opened their hands, there were toys. “You see,” the officials said. “Fidel Castro is the one who gives you what you want.”

That day, she knew she needed to leave Cuba. She applied for a visa, and 10 days after she received it, she left for the United States — leaving behind her job, home and family.

It’s been 60 years since. She has never gone back. Her sister, barely 20 when she left, is in her 80s now — my mother is in her 90s. Neither has forgotten the other’s birthday. Neither expects to see the other again.

My father, too, fled communism to come to the United States. For the rest of his life, he wrote poetry about the Cuba he’d left behind and dreamed of seeing it free again. He died without ever returning.

I grew up learning the Cuban flag before I could read — the red triangle, the white star, a story my parents made sure I knew before I ever set foot in a classroom. I sent letters to cousins I’d likely never meet in person. Communism turned the country my parents loved into a place they no longer recognized.

I love the United States — it’s my country, and I believe it’s the best in the world. However, my heart still aches for Cuba. It’s my ancestry. It’s the blood in my veins.

Today, when I hear that democratic socialism is gaining popularity in this country, I don’t hear a new platform. I hear something old and familiar. I’ve heard these promises before, in Spanish, from people who were offered paradise and given poverty instead. Universal health care. A government that finally takes care of you.

According to my mother’s sister and my father’s poetry and my cousins’ letters — I know where those promises lead.

When rent is too high, paychecks don’t stretch far enough, and quality healthcare feels out of reach, I understand the appeal. Most people aren’t drawn to socialism because they want authoritarianism — they’re tired, and scared, and looking for someone to blame or something to believe in.

My family’s story has taught me that when you ask the government to solve a problem for you, it never stops there. It starts small, it doesn’t feel like much, and it keeps going, step by step, step by step, until it’s taken over your life.

As a teenager, I used to get letters from my cousin in Cuba. He once wrote that he felt like jumping into the ocean because he had nothing to live for there, he couldn’t even think for himself. The government had taken that too. He wanted to study something he loved; instead, they told him what to study. He was not allowed to build a version of his life for himself.

My mother has a friend whose son spoke out against the regime. He was arrested. Afterward, an envelope arrived at her door. Inside were his fingers.

This is the path government control always takes. It promises to reward your work, but my mom had a friend whose husband fixed cars for a living — and made good money doing it, until the government noticed. They confiscated his tools and told him to hand the money back. You weren’t supposed to make that much.

That’s what they don’t want you to know: there is no next tier. Just gratitude for whatever you’re given.

It doesn’t start with tanks or secret police. It starts with an idea: that success is suspect, that what you’ve built isn’t really yours, that someone else should decide what you keep.

Today, my daughter is growing up with opportunities her grandparents could only dream of—because my parents gave up everything they knew, believing that here, hard work would be rewarded instead of punished.

That belief is the reason I’m a journalist today instead of standing in a ration line. I think about my mother’s sister every time I hear someone say the government should have more control over our lives — because that promise cost my family everything and never once delivered. I’ve lived on the other side of it. I’d rather you believe me than believe them.

Reprinted with permission from DC Journal.

The opinions expressed by columnists are their own and do not necessarily represent the views of AMAC or AMAC Action.