1961年8月，12岁的古巴男孩卡洛斯•萨拉德里加斯(Carlos Saladrigas)揣着3美元现金只身抵达迈阿密。萨拉德里加斯的父母把他们的独生儿子送到了美国。他们担心，菲德尔•卡斯特罗(Fidel Castro)的新政权会向他灌输思想，甚至把他送走——送去“教育营”或者前苏联。
把1.4万名古巴儿童送往迈阿密以逃离共产主义的“彼得潘行动”开始于50年前的下个月。大多数“彼得潘”今天仍生活在迈阿密。我经常去这个城市，在那里见到萨拉德里加斯时，我感觉他身上承载了古巴人普遍的流亡经历：个体的成功、政治的失败和满怀的悲伤。在政治上，他也经历了典型的流亡者生涯：从激烈反对卡斯特罗到寻求对话。如今他正在关注弹尽粮绝的古巴政权如何着手改革共产主义，并希望这不会又是“虚幻的曙光”。
跟大多数“彼得潘”一样，萨拉德里加斯抛下了在古巴白人般的舒适生活。他父亲是公务员，母亲经营着一家服装店。“我们家在Miramar，我们还有个漂亮的农场，我在那里度过了许多快乐的童年时光，”他最近这么跟我说。
1961年，这些“被刷白”(the scrubbed white)的反共产主义儿童触动了美国人的心弦。萨拉德里加斯有时“很有一种冒险的感觉”，但并不总是如此。在迈阿密，他最初和一位抑郁寡欢的阿姨住在一起，后来住到一个表姐家，可性格蛮横的表姐夫不久就把男孩扔出了家门。萨拉德里加斯回忆说，“我那时不会说英语，在无数个日子里，我会骑着脚踏车去当地的教堂，哭得肝肠寸断。当我自己的孩子长到父亲送我来美国的那个年龄时，我才完全理解这个决定肯定让我父母受到了很大打击。”
起初他以为自己很快就能回到古巴。可事实上却是他父母于1962年来到了迈阿密。他母亲找了份分拣西红柿的工作，父亲在一家医院洗餐盘。大卫•瑞夫(David Rieff)在一本有关迈阿密古巴人的书中写道，因为父母蒙受的这份耻辱，许多家庭永远不会原谅卡斯特罗。
萨拉德里加斯记得他们在迈阿密小屋子里度过的快乐时光。他甚至回到原来的学校Belen Jesuit上学，这所学校是从哈瓦那迁来的。但后来母亲得了癌症，萨拉德里加斯只好辍学去工作。他母亲去世了。
我第一次见到萨拉德里加斯，是在他跟别人合办的银行楼上的一间办公室里。他已经是一位富有的企业家。和许多“彼得潘”一样，他也醉心于政治——“彼得潘”中有一些政治家，包括迈阿密的现任市长。
迈阿密古巴人的政治过去总是涉及暴力：从1961年入侵猪猡湾未遂，到据估计为638次的暗杀菲德尔•卡斯特罗行动。在冷战时期，光是主张和卡斯特罗对话，就会惹怒迈阿密的古巴人。
萨拉德里加斯过去也反对对话。他有一次跟我说：“我是强硬派。”1998年教皇访问古巴，以及迈阿密大主教打算派信徒乘坐游轮前往古巴时，萨拉德里加斯是阻止这些行动的“主要负责人”。他现在后悔了。“一项失败的政策竟然延续了52年，老天爷！”
大部分流亡者一直以为，只要卡斯特罗一死，古巴就会自动走向民主。但2006年卡斯特罗患病时，他直接把政权交给了他的兄弟劳尔(Raúl)。事实证明，这个政权是耐久的。许多流亡者正是从这个时候开始寻求和卡斯特罗兄弟对话的。然而，对话并无多大益处。迈阿密大学古巴问题专家、古巴裔美国人安迪•戈麦斯(Andy Gomez)表示：“试图跟菲德尔和劳尔谈判毫无用处，他们随时会撤掉你脚下的地毯。”
流亡者如今正转而和古巴老百姓接触。迈阿密大主教最近出席了自萨拉德里加斯离国以来古巴首家天主教神学院的落成典礼。戈麦斯目前在哈瓦那教导学生如何建设“公民社会”。这些示好姿态可能仍会无果而终，但萨拉德里加斯表示：“我希望革命内部会有人关心传统，因为我知道我自己就关心传统，在我人生的这个阶段。”毫无疑问，劳尔•卡斯特罗目前正释放政治犯，并表示将废除配给卡，裁减政府工作人员，发展私人经济。毕竟，正如菲德尔近期所说，古巴模式并非行之有效。
流亡者总是梦想着回国。但50年后，一切都已太晚。萨拉德里加斯并不想回到古巴定居。相反，他说：“我梦想回国，尽我所能重建祖国。要回去只有一条路：捧出我们的真心，怀着巨大的谦卑。我们不是回去戳同胞们的痛处，说什么他们50年来的生活是巨大的失败。岛上的古巴人才是未来的真正演员，我们在迈阿密的这些人只是配角。”
但愿他能等到那一天。卡斯特罗兄弟想必不会永生，但这种可能性似乎越来越大。
译者/杨远
http://www.ftchinese.com/story/001035691
In August 1961 a 12-year-old Cuban boy landed alone in Miami with $3 in cash. Carlos Saladrigas’s parents had sent their only child to the US. They feared that Fidel Castro’s new regime would indoctrinate him, or even send him away – to an “educational camp” or the Soviet Union.
Operation Peter Pan – the airlift to Miami of 14,000 children escaping communism – began 50 years ago next month. Most Peter Pans are still in Miami today. I visit the city often, and when I met Saladrigas there I felt he embodied much of the Cuban exile experience: personal success, political failure, sadness. Politically, too, he has made the typical journey of el exilio: from raging against the Castros to seeking dialogue. Now he’s watching a bankrupt Cuban regime try to reform communism, and hoping this isn’t another false dawn.
Like most Peter Pans, Saladrigas left behind a comfortable white existence in Cuba. His father was a civil servant, and his mother ran a clothes store. “We had our home in Miramar, and a nice farm where I spent many happy days of my childhood,” he told me recently.
In 1961, the scrubbed white anti-communist children stirred American hearts. At times Saladrigas felt “a big sense of adventure”. Other times, he didn’t. In Miami he lived first with a depressive aunt, and later with a cousin whose bullying husband soon threw the boy out. Saladrigas recalls, “I did not speak English. On numerous days I would ride my bicycle to the local church where I’d cry my guts out. When my own kids reached the age when my father shipped me to the US, that’s when I fully grasped the impact that this decision must have made on my parents.”
He had initially thought he’d soon return to Cuba. Instead, in 1962 his parents came to Miami. His mother found work sorting tomatoes. His father washed dishes in a hospital. David Rieff, in his book on Miami Cubans, says many families never forgave Castro this humiliation of their patriarchs.
Saladrigas remembers happy times in their little Miami house. He even returned to his old school, Belen Jesuit, which had moved itself over from Havana. But when his mother got cancer, Saladrigas left school and took a job. She died.
I first met Saladrigas in an office above the bank he co-founded. He’s become a rich entrepreneur. Like many Peter Pans – who include several politicians, plus Miami’s current mayor – he’s also a political obsessive.
Politics in Cuban Miami always used to involve violence: from the failed invasion of the Bay of Pigs in 1961, to the estimated 638 attempts to assassinate Fidel Castro. In Miami during the cold war, people could be blown up just for advocating dialogue with him.
Saladrigas used to oppose dialogue too. “I come from the hardline,” he told me once. When the pope visited Cuba in 1998, and Miami’s archbishop wanted to send pilgrims across in a cruise liner, Saladrigas was “the leading responsible person” for preventing it. He regrets that now. “It’s been 52 years, for goodness sake, of a failed policy,” he says.
Most exiles long assumed that when Castro died, Cuba would automatically go democratic. But when Castro fell ill in 2006, he simply handed the presidency to his brother Raúl. It turned out the regime was durable. That’s when many exiles sought dialogue with the Castros. However, dialogue hasn’t helped much. Andy Gomez, Cuban-American expert on Cuba at the University of Miami, says: “Trying to negotiate with Fidel and Raúl is useless. They can pull the carpet from under your feet at any time.”
Instead, exiles are now reaching out to ordinary Cubans. Miami’s archbishop recently attended the inauguration of the first Catholic seminary built in Cuba since Saladrigas left. Gomez is teaching students in Havana how to build civil society. These overtures may be just more dead ends, but, Saladrigas says, “My hope is that there are some inside the revolution who care about a legacy. Because I know I care about a legacy, at this stage of my life.” Certainly Raúl Castro is now releasing political prisoners, and says he will abolish ration cards, sack government workers and expand private business. After all, as Fidel recently remarked, the Cuban model doesn’t work.
The exiles always dreamed of return. But, after 50 years, it’s too late. Saladrigas doesn’t expect to live in Cuba again. Instead he says, “I have a dream of returning and doing as much as I can to rebuild my country. There’s only one way to go back: with our heart in our hands and with enormous humility. We are not there to rub in their faces that their life for 50 years has been a massive failure. The Cubans on the island will be the actors of the future. We in Miami are the auxiliary cast.”
I hope he’ll see the day. Presumably the Castros cannot live forever, but it does seem increasingly possible.
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