Mothers emerge as leaders in Cuban resistance movement

Havana Cuba- On June 9, Amelia Calzadilla, a 33-year-old mother of three, posted a video on Facebook. It was an impromptu decision that would transform her into one of Cuba’s most prominent new dissidents.

“I never had any interest in being famous, in being an influencer or a journalist. I’m interested in telling the truth,” she said. Now, Calzadilla is embroiled in a public battle with the Cuban government, which has been trying to censor her for months.

It has become part of an emerging force in Cuba’s political resistance: mothers making known their daily struggles as the country faces one of its worst economic crises in recent history.

In the video, Calzadilla makes a simple request: ask the local authorities to install a gas pipeline on his block. His family lives in one of the few areas of Havana without government-provided natural gas service, and his electric stove bill has skyrocketed beyond his monthly salary.

“I blew up on social media because there was no formal way to complain to anyone who could help,” he said.

His video took off, garnering tens of thousands of likes in its first 24 hours online.

Calzadilla began sharing more videos with openly anti-government perspectives on worsening living conditions in Cuba. It was risky: expressing dissent can not only be taboo, but also illegal on the island.

Now, Calzadilla juggles activism in addition to caring for three children and working in the island’s struggling tourism industry.

Women like Calzadilla are increasingly filling a void in Cuba’s opposition movement. In 2021, the country experienced historic protests on a scale not seen since the 1959 Cuban Revolution. But the government responded with strong measures and human rights groups estimate that 1,400 people were ultimately arrested, many of them young men.

Hundreds have since been sentenced up to 30 years in prison. Many of the island’s most visible dissidents have been arrested or have fled.

But in recent protests across the island, mothers unable to feed their children blocked roads with human chains, holding hands with their children and each other.

and during the country frequent blackouts, the matriarchs are often seen leading protests through the streets, banging on pots and pans sometimes for hours until power is restored. Local media have reported that more than 30 such protests have taken place in small towns in recent weeks.

Economic reforms, coupled with the stresses of the COVID-19 pandemic, declining foreign tourism, and the continued US embargo, have left Cuba struggling economy. The country is riddled with shortage of basic supplies such as foodmedicine and fueland the average salary in Cuba is equivalent to approximately 19 dollars a month.

Calzadilla sees the country’s struggles reflected at home. “If a mother has a problem, that’s a Cuban problem, even if it doesn’t affect everyone personally,” she said.

Previously, Calzadilla explained, she was a vocal advocate of Cuban-style communism. She even worked for the Cuban government in the Ministry of the Interior after graduating from the University of Havana. But the changes she’s seen in her country have spurred her to action, she said.

“Now, the areas of agriculture, public health, housing and basic goods are in total crisis, they need a restructuring that is not taking place,” said Calzadilla.

He said he believes officials are more interested in keeping up appearances than addressing Cuba’s economic crisis: “I no longer think they have the awareness or the necessary preparation to solve these problems.”

So Calzadilla has taken it upon himself to make dozens of videos and write posts describing how he believes the current government has mishandled the country’s finances.

The Cuban government has responded to the popularity of Calzadilla’s Facebook videos by broadcasting accusations on national television that she is a contractor for the United States Central Intelligence Agency, citing remittances she received from the United States.

However, a quarter of Cuban households receive remittances from the United States, mostly from relatives. Calzadilla explained that she relies on the support of her family in the US to provide her children with food and clothing.

Calzadilla admits that she has been afraid ever since of facing a false trial and being jailed, but fear does not inhibit her.

“It’s like the fear of losing a job for anyone in a capitalist country,” he said, dismissing it as common anxiety.

Mothers like Calzadilla have been important figureheads in resistance movements in Latin America, particularly in Mexico and Argentina, according to Elva Orozco Mendoza, a professor of political science at the University of Connecticut.

“Mothers feel the effects that certain government policies or inaction can have on their children,” she explained. That, in turn, drives women to action, and their participation can serve as powerful symbols for protest movements.

“This broader story of mothers resisting injustice also legitimizes their leadership,” Orozco Mendoza said. “The general public tends to think that their fight is legitimate.”

Elizabeth Leon is among the mothers in Cuba inspired to speak out against what she sees as government injustices. On July 11, 2021, Leon, in his 50s, heard screaming from him on the street, so he went out and joined a protest in his neighborhood.

One of her sons videotaped what happened next: a police officer hit her repeatedly with a baton, knocking her to the ground. Leon’s three adult sons stepped in to defend her, but ended up getting beaten up as well.

That night, they took photos of their bloodstained faces, arms, and chests. Leon said the officer’s baton knocked his shoulder out of his place and it remains sore to this day.

“We documented everything and posted it online just to prove it was real,” he said.

The next morning, the police went door to door and arrested dozens of people. They arrested the four sons of León.

One, Adonis, hadn’t even been to the protest. León was able to prove that he was elsewhere, but it took 52 days to secure his release.

His two youngest children, however, were sentenced in March last year to eight and 10 years in prison. One of them, Frandy Leon, struggles with a learning disability. At 27, he is functionally illiterate.

Leon’s lawyer told him there was a chance he could fight for the release of his eldest son, José Antonio, who is in jail awaiting sentencing, but that would mean throwing the two younger brothers under the bus, possibly extending their sentences.

Leon decided to share his situation online, as well as through local underground journalism collectives, in an attempt to raise awareness and free his three sons who remain incarcerated. He also uses Facebook to post videos and updates about his children’s cases.

Each son has two or three young children, and Leon’s extended family has suffered with three fewer salaries to depend on. Adonis and the inmates’ girlfriends are now raising their children together in Leon’s house, which is falling apart.

Almost all the furniture is broken and leaking stuffing. The front stairs have collapsed, making the only way into the house a rickety wooden staircase. And several walls have collapsed, replaced with plastic sheeting to protect the rooms from the rain.

At mealtime, the kids eat first and the adults get the leftovers. The family’s allowance of bread, powdered milk and rice, provided through the government, is not enough to keep the youngest children fed. Leon has started selling items from his house to buy packets of hot dogs.

“I had no choice but to turn to online activism even though it might hurt my case,” Leon said. “They are punishing us for living, for living and having nothing.”

In his grief, Leon consulted a Santeria religious leader and built an altar near the entrance to the house, out of plastic dolls and old photographs meant to bring positive transformations to the lives of those inside.

“I’ll do anything right now,” she said as she turned to the group of children behind her and busied herself with their lunch: milk and biscuits.

Several hours later, when the power went out again, Leon was back in the street, where it all started, banging on his pots and pans.