Published Monday, April 3, 2000, in the  Miami Herald 

Mom: 'My daughter or death'

BY EUNICE PONCE

ON STRIKE: Milagros Cruz Cano, camped out in a tent on West Flagler Street, is staging a hunger strike to try to get her 9-year-old daughter out of Cuba.

A few blocks from where Elian Gonzalez lives, a former Cuban dissident is in the 14th day of a hunger strike that she vows won't end until her 9-year-old daughter is allowed to leave Cuba.

''It's either my daughter or death,'' said Milagros Cruz Cano, 32. ''If Castro, without any moral right, can claim Elian Gonzalez, then I, with all the rights of a mother, am claiming my daughter.''

As a swarm of media gathers daily at the Gonzalez family home in Little Havana, hardly anyone has taken notice of Cruz, who whiles away the time crafting a pompom with a long piece of black yarn.

She doesn't look down as she threads her needle through the center, but each section of yarn is perfectly spaced. She doesn't look down as she reaches for her scissors. She doesn't need to -- she is blind, afflicted with glaucoma when she was 10.

Since March 21, Cruz has lived inside a tent propped in front of the headquarters of the militant anti-Castro group Alpha 66, at 1714 W. Flagler St. Cruz, a member of the group, has been surviving on water and Gatorade only to draw attention to her efforts to bring her 9-year-old daughter, Nohemi Herbello Cruz, to Miami.

''If I draw international attention, they'll let her go,'' she said. ''The government always like to stay clean, that they're into families.''

But two weeks into her protest, Cruz is frustrated. ''My emotional state is not so good. It's hard when you see people being indifferent.''

Nancy Perez, 45, visited Sunday after hearing about her on Cuban radio talk shows. ''The people are thinking of her, but now everyone is wrapped up in the Elian case,'' she said.

Others had urged Cruz to pick another time for her strike. Then there are some who think the timing is perfect.

''Fidel Castro is alleging [Juan Miguel Gonzalez] has a paternal right. Here, we're alleging a maternal right, and she's not even well,'' said another supporter, Maria Rosa de Armas, who visited her Friday. ''Nevertheless, [Castro] has no compassion for her.''

The Cuban government apparently was more than happy to be rid of her.

Cruz has been speaking out against Castro on the streets of Havana since 1992. ''I thought that if I spoke out, things would get better, but they got worse -- much worse.''

She complained about earning next to nothing in her state-provided job -- making paper cups at five Cuban pesos (about $5 at the official exchange rate) for every 1,000 cups she finished a day. If she made more than 1,000, she said those were considered her ''donation'' to the government.

Cruz ended up playing her guitar in the streets, but was frequently harassed by state security agents.

''They took away my first guitar in front of the Cathedral of Havana, then they taunted me, saying, 'Guess which one of us took your guitar,' or 'You can't turn us in because you can't read our badge numbers.' ''

Other times, she said, the security agents would steal her guitar money, then march around jingling the change in their cupped hands.

For her run-ins with the state, she said state security agents yanked her around by the hair, beat her publicly, jailed her eight times and sent her to psychiatric hospitals twice.

The last time was in 1998, when she was thrown into the Mazorras sanitarium after yelling ''Abajo Fidel'' (''Down with Fidel'') in public. Although she passed a mental test, Cruz said the psychiatrists wouldn't release her. So she began a hunger strike and threatened to have her mother call Radio Marti.

''The Cuban government always wants to look innocent -- they don't want to look bad in the eyes of the world,'' she said.

The next day she was released.

Soon afterward, Cruz and her daughter were granted political asylum by the U.S. Interests Section in Havana. But her problems with the Cuban government were far from over.

When she went to Cuban immigration officials to apply for exit visas and passports, she was told it would be ''doubtful'' her ex-husband, Alfredo Herbello Linares, would sign for release of their daughter -- even though he hasn't seen her since the couple separated shortly after her birth.

The next day, Cruz said, Cuban officials told her Herbello wanted $2,500 in exchange for the signature.

''It's just another way that the Cuban government collects U.S. dollars -- through the sale of children,'' she said.

Cruz said government officials then told her, ''Don't think you can take your daughter with you.''

She decided she could do more to help Nohemi from Miami, so she came here in October 1999. Her daughter continues to live with Cruz's mother in Alturas de San Miguel Del Padron, a district in Havana.

Cruz said she thinks about her family a lot as she sits in the tent outside Alpha 66 headquarters, where pictures of slain paramilitary fighters line nearly every inch of wall space.

She and the setting seem oddly suited for each other.

''I've always been a rebel. When I was little, they always told me, 'You're a disobedient girl,' '' she said. ''I only humble myself before God, and even then, it's hard to do.''

Copyright 2000 the Miami Herald.
Republished here with the permission of the Miami Herald. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the written approval of The Miami Herald.