Another voice
Lessons from Cuba
Auberon Waugh
Cienfuegos, Cuba
Aconference of Latin American bishops at Medellin, Colombia, in 1968 is usually given as the moment when the Catholic Church in Latin America — where nearly a half of the world's Catholics live aligned itself with what is now called `liberation theology'. This system, which is thought especially applicable to the Third World, argues from the proposition that spiritual welfare cannot be assured in condi- tions of abject poverty or oppression towards the point — and individuals differ in the degree to which they have reached it — that it is the Church's function to create God's kingdom on earth. In its final stages, it is scarcely to be distinguished from Marx- ism, although I have yet to hear even one of our beloved English biships argue that when that supreme point of social bliss has been reached the Church might be allowed to wither away. From Monsignor Worlock's austere remarks about unemployment, I gather that this would be no part of his scheme of things.
At another conference of Latin American bishops in Pueblo, Mexico, which was held years later, Pope John Paul sounded a note of warning: 'Remember that you are priests,' he told them. 'You are not social organisers, political leaders or instruments of a temporal authority.'
The Pope's warning seems to have gone unheeded, and it has even been possible, by selective quotation from his addresses dur- ing the Brazilian visit of 1980, to claim that in voicing his support for the Church's traditional role of ministering to the poor he was throwing his weight behind the 'liberation' theologians and the forces for social change in Latin America. Nobody really believes this, but the Pope's ambigui- ty leaves open the interesting question about the Church's motives for its present near-revolutionary posture in many of the countries of South and Central America: is the Church honestly convinced that it should concern itself more with the pro- blems of this world and less with those of the next, or is it merely worried about its own survival in a period of violent social upheaval? If the second forms any part of the calculations, it should take a long, hard look at the state of the Church in Cuba where Fidel Castro has managed, as no other communist dictatorship has yet managed, to reduce the Christian religion to a tiny minority of the very old in a coun- try which 23 years ago was at least nominal- ly 90 per cent Catholic.
So far as I know, nobody has yet written a study of the Catholic Church under socialism in Cuba, and one can see why. There is nothing very dramatic to tell.
Castro himself, the son of an extremely wealthy self-made first-generation Spanish immigrant, was sent from his father's 23,000-acre sugar plantation to be educated by the Augustinians, then by the Jesuits. After his first abortive coup in 1953, when most of his companions were imprisoned or shot, it was the then Archbishop of San- tiago, Monsignor Perez Serrantes, who sav- ed his life and later, in 1955, persuaded Fulgencio Batista to grant a general amnes- ty to political prisoners. Latin American prelates who are even now agitating for such amnesties might pause to reflect on the consequences of this one.
When Castro returned to Cuba in 1956 and took up terrorist operations in the Sierra Maestra, he had with him a Catholic priest, one Father Sardinas. Much was made of this Friar Tuck among Robin Hood and his Merry Men by propagandists, and also of the fact that Castro agreed to be godfather to various peasant babies at the time. If you ask what has happened to Father Sardinas now, nobody knows. This is not at all odd. Practically nothing is known about anything in Cuba. He might have died, or be in prison, or shot, or work- ing as a deputy assistant public relations of- ficer on some housing estate, as an enor- mous number of Cubans seem to do. Whatever the truth, the fact of the matter is that he served his purpose, and is of no fur- ther interest.
It was many years before Castro admitted he was a Marxist-Leninist; he has always had an eye to the battle for the hearts and minds of the Church in Latin America. But nothing except the extraordinary wetness of the Church in Cuba can explain how he got away with it during the first few yearS, when many hundreds of priests were sent to his forced labour camps. Among them was Monsignor Jaime Ortega, who was en- throned last December as Archbishop of Havana in a splendid service attended by bishops and archbishops from all over Latin America. It was a showpiece occa- sion, beautifully stage-managed by the regime. Visitors would have supposed that the Church was not only permitted in com- munist Cuba, but respected and flourishing.
The truth is slightly different. While it is important for Castro not to give the impres- sion that the Church is in any way persecuted, there is no sign that it has taken advantage of its position in this respect. The party makes no secret of its intention to inculcate atheism but claims to respect the beliefs of Christians unless these conflict with public policy in such matters as work- ing on Sundays. Marxism-Leninism is a compulsory course of study at university,
and all Catholics have to take it. Although the Catholic Church in Cuba has no objec- tion to its members joining the Communist party, the party won't have them, which ef- fectively removes them from any position of influence. Although catechism classes in church are permitted, the Church is allowed no other role in education or in social welfare, nor is it allowed to pronounce on social or political matters. As I say, a few old ladies still turn up, but their numbers are dwindling. The Pegasus representative in Havana told me that in nine months she had not met a single Cuban who went to church or thought of himself as a Catholic. To be fair to the Catholic Church in Cuba, it has not reached its present abject state from any great height. It never oc- cupied the position of the Catholic Church in Poland, for instance, or even in Ireland, where it has been identified with its members' national aspirations. It was always a Spanish importation and largely run by Spaniards, so that in the wars of in- dependence it generally found itself on the wrong — or at any rate the losing — side' Its relations with the previous Batista regime were not happy. In his first years as president, from 1933 to 1944, President Batista was supported by the Communists, although people tend to forget that now' They also forget that several ministers in the present regime were active in the previous one.
There might have been some reason for the Catholic Church in Cuba to welcome Castro before his intentions were apparent' Oddly enough, although the autochthonons negro religion, called Santeria — a mixture of paganism, voodoo and largely Old Testa- ment Christianity — is similarly discourag- ed, it has flourished as a semi-underground, church. Just before the consecration 01 Monsignor Ortega, which amazed the whole of Havana by finding three or four thousand Catholics to fill the cathedral, the blacks celebrated their festival of San Lazaro — after Lazarus the Leper, who for some reason has been adopted as the Patrnn saint of slaves and Caribbean negroes iu general. A hundred thousand Afro-Cubans packed his shrine, many of them having walked the last two miles on their knees, to watch chickens having their heads bitten of` and other devotional activites. The Catholic Church's position in Cuba is peculiarly abject, cringing before a regime which is determined to let it die. It can do nothing and say nothing. Although it had the excuse, when it helped Castro to power, that it did not know what it was do' ing, the bishops of Nicaragua, Guateniala' El Salvador, Costa Rica, Panama and fur` ther south have no such excuse. They call now see that this is where all their radical fervour is going to lead. Of course, by the standards of social welfare, Castro has done very well for the Cubans. It is long past the time for bishops to make aP then, minds on which side the good Lord's bra' is buttered. Sadly enough, they seem to have made the wrong choice.
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