Author's Note: I wrote this story on January 5th, right after I heard about the decision to send little Elian Gonzalez back to Cuba. Not only is this pure fiction, it is also assumes that he will in fact be sent back. As of now, there is some chance that this will not happen. At the end of the story, I will make some in depth comments, but for now read on if you wish, with the knowledge that this story is not to be taken literally.
Background: For those not in the know, a five year old Cuban boy named Elian Gonzalez was found clinging to an inner tube in the Atlantic Ocean late last year. He was a passenger on a boat that was fleeing Cuba and had sunk, drowning most of the passengers, including Elian's Mother and Stepfather. Due to the fact that his father is still alive, although he was divorced from Elian's mother, he has been granted custody of the boy and it is likely that he will soon be sent back to Cuba. This despite the fact that the Elian's mother died trying to get him to freedom and that the boy himself, now six, does not seem to want to go back. I wish to protest and I have chosen this unlikely venue to do so.
Elian Gonzalez walked down the steps of the plane and looked around. Sure enough, just as he'd been told, there were crowds waiting for him, to cheer his return. Elian could not read yet, but he'd learned to recognize his name and he saw that it was prominently displayed on many of the placards that the crowd held high. They cheered for him as he walked across the tarmac to where the lady holding his hand had told him that his father was waiting, but something about the way they cheered struck Elian as wrong. When people had cheered for him in America, it had sounded different. These people did not seem as happy to see him, no mater what they were saying. He did not know that many of the people had been ordered to come to this demonstration, but he would not have been surprised considering their artificial welcome.
Then Elian saw his father. He tried to smile and get excited, but he found he could not. He did not understand all of what had happened to him; he knew that the adults had not told him many of the things that had gone on, but there was one thing that he knew clearly. His father was the one who was making him come back to Cuba. Nobody had wanted to tell him, but when he was told that he would have to go back, he wanted to know why. He loved America, why did he have to leave? His cousin had finally told him that since Mama was in heaven, he had to do what Papa said, and Papa said that he wanted him to go back to Cuba and live with him. He'd asked why couldn't Papa come and live with him in America, but was told that Papa did not want to come to America. He would not even come on the plane to pick Elian up; some government lady would escort him back. It seemed so stupid to Elian; he was sure that if Papa would only come to America to meet him, he would not want to go back either. But Elian was just a small boy and it seemed his opinions didn't matter.
So as he approached Papa, he was very well aware who was responsible for his return. But then he saw who was standing next to Papa and he went from being slightly apprehensive to downright frightened. There was no way any Cuban, no matter how young, could fail to recognize this person. The beard, the bushy eyebrows and the militarily fatigues, who else could it be? Elian stopped looking at his father and stared instead at the fiercely grinning Fidel Castro.
Papa picked him up in his arms and kissed him on the forehead. His father's strong arms and familiar smell comforted Elian, but this was more than overwhelmed by the stifling aura of the dictator. He knew nothing of politics; how could he, he was only six, but he knew that many people were afraid of this man. Behind closed doors, he'd heard adults talk in hushed whispers, deathly afraid that they not be overheard. Everyone pretended to like him, but Elian was smart enough to know that this was a lie. People were afraid of what might happen to them if he knew that they didn't like him. With this in mind, he realized that he could not let him know how much he was afraid of him.
Papa put him down and Fidel Castro bent over to talk to him. Mama had been afraid of him, Elian realized, that was why she'd left and taken Elian so that this man could never hurt him. Now Papa had brought him right back into his clutches. The bearded monster was running his hands through Elian's hair and asking if he was happy to be back with his Papa. Elian lied and said that he was, but the lie did not reach his eyes.
'You killed my Mama,' they silently accused the tyrant.
If Fidel Castro knew how the boy really felt, he did not show it. He knew better than to ruin a good photo-op. Papa took Elian's hand and they walked toward the airport building. They got in a car and drove away. Papa was chatting to him about how much everyone had missed him and would be happy to see him, but Elian was not listening. He was looking around and the drab and run-down Cuban capital and comparing it to the glorious splendor of Florida. He had been snatched from Paradise, but he would not forget it.
"Elian, are you listening to me?" Papa snapped.
Elian turned his head. He hadn't been paying attention and apparently Papa had asked him a question. He didn't have time to think of a fib and didn't consider it necessary.
"Sorry, Papa," he said, "I was just thinking about America."
"Oh were you?" Papa said, his eyes turning cold, "Perhaps you need something else to think about."
Elian gulped. His Papa could be very stern when he was ready. Then he realized that they were in a government car. Papa probably didn't want the driver to hear him say anything that would get them in trouble. He relaxed for a bit, but listened closely to Papa from then on, and answered all his questions, though he wondered why the man never asked him about his stay in America.
They reached a house in the old section of Havana where one of Papa's cousins lived. They would stay there until they went home in a few days. There was a small crowd gathered to meet him, but they vanished as soon as the few reporters who had followed them from the airport left. Life in Cuba was hard, after all, and there was no time to be idle.
Papa's cousin and his wife seemed nice enough and they showed Elian the room where he and Papa would be spending the night. The boy did not hold it against his relatives, but once again he was struck by how much nicer the room he'd had in America was. When at last he was alone, he opened his small suitcase, looking at his prized possessions that he'd been given in America. He was running his fingers over a soft teddy bear, thinking about how much he missed Mama when Papa came back into the room.
"What is all this?" he asked, looking into the suitcase and pulling out the contents.
"They're presents from my friends and cousins in America," Elian explained, somewhat concerned by the aggressive way Papa was going through his stuff.
"You have no friends in America," Papa rebuked him, "And no family either. Your only family and fiends are here in Cuba. And you may not have these things. They will be given away to others who deserve them more."
At this point Elian broke. He might be just a small boy, but he had some rights. Even if Papa could make him come back to Cuba, these things belonged to him and he had no right to take them away. He yelled and tried to snatch his gifts back from his father's hands, but he was not strong enough. Papa put everything back in the suitcase and told him to sit on the bed and wait.
"You have learned bad manners in that place, boy," he told him as he went out the door. "Now I must teach you again the proper respect a boy must have for his elders."
Elian started to cry. He knew what that meant. Papa was going to spank him. It wouldn't be the first time Papa, or Mama for that matter, had spanked him, but the times before Elian realized he'd been naughty. This time he hadn't. On top of everything else, this was just too unfair.
All too soon, Papa came back into the room, holding what appeared to be half of a broken meterstick. But Papa had always spanked him with his hand, what was that for?
"Elian," Papa was saying. "I watched you on the TV when you were in America. I saw you go to all those places and smiling at everybody. You never thought once about all the poor boys and girls back here, you were only thinking of yourself. You are a selfish, spoiled little boy. I never want to hear you talk of America and I will make sure you don't!"
Papa sat on the bed and pulled Elian across his lap. The boy was crying and waiting for the spanking to begin, but was surprised to find Papa pulling his shoes off. He must not want dirt on the bed, Elian guessed, but he wondered why Papa was now reaching for his trousers. It was only when the man undid them that he understood what was happening.
"No, no, Papa," he begged, "Not with my pants down!"
"Be quiet, little boy," Papa scolded him, "You'll have plenty to fuss about soon enough."
Elian did not have the nerve to try and prevent his father from pulling his pants down. If Papa decided that this was the way he was to be spanked, he had no recourse. But despite this, when Papa's hands returned to his waist a second time, his response was almost a reflex.
"No, no!" he pleaded, "Not my underpants too! Please, Papa, don't spank me naked!"
"You thought you were so big, Elian," Papa said as he slid the white briefs down, revealing Elian's pale brown buns. "I bet you don't feel so important now!"
It was there, laying mostly naked over his father's lap, his vulnerable bottom sticking up awaiting punishment and his hairless little pecker crushed against the rough fabric of Papa's pants, that Elian understood. Papa thought that Elian loved America more than him, and this made him angry. That was why he was going to spank him, not because Elian had done anything wrong. What Papa didn't understand was the Elian had wanted both and knew that he could have had it. Elian had never made a choice because he'd never been offered the opportunity. Now he had to face the bitterness of Papa who didn't understand that Elian had wanted nothing more than for him to live in that wonderful land also.
WHACK! went the broken ruler on Elian's little bottom and the boy cried out in pain. The thick wood had crossed both cheeks and left a burning stripe.
WHACK! it went again and Elian gave another sharp cry.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Papa was spanking him with a slow, steady rhythm. Each time the stick found a new area of his bottom to hit and the stinging increased. He was sobbing and wanted to kick his legs, but he knew that this would just make Papa angrier.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!! WHACK!! Having run out of fresh area of bottom to hit, Papa was going over old territory, turning the stinging into a hot burning. His light brown skin was now a deep red, and still Papa did not let up. He spanked Elian on the top of his legs, on the area just below his back, but most of the blows were reserved for the area right in the middle of his bottom. That was what hurt most of all. His plump little cheeks could do no more than quiver as they were pummeled and Elian only managed to screech and howl.
WHACK!!! WHACK!!! WHACK!!!!!! At last Papa was done. Elian was crying so hard, he could hardly catch his breath, but Papa had no sympathy. He shoved the boy off and stood up.
"That's better," he said. "Remember that next time you want to talk about how great America is."
He left the room and Elian cried into his pillow. Slowly, he reached around and started to massage his burning bum. Papa could stop him from talking about America, he though, but he could never make him stop dreaming about it. He could spank him as much as he wanted, but he would never forget. And to prove his point, while continued to soothe his naked, spanked backside with his hands, he drifted in his mind; returning to the magical land across the sea and he swore someday he would return.
End note. I do not consider Elian's father to be a bad man and I do not think that he would do this to his son. The point that I am making is that Elian has been returned to a country that he can not legally leave. Imagine if his mother died to get him over the Berlin Wall and the people on the other side threw him right back and you will understand how I feel about this. Elian is a victim, and as far as I am concerned, sending him back to Cuba has a punishment that he did not deserve. The people who should be spanked are the ones who let this happen; the head of the INS, US Attorney General Janet Reno and US President Bill Clinton. As for Fidel Castro, he should be shot in the face repeatedly and his murdering soul be sent to hell. And before you accuse me of being a Yankee dog, let me state that I am neither a citizen nor a resident of the United States.