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The woman’s 23-year-old father – an accountant in Cuba a year before, a dish washer in a Miami hotel two months before, and now a grim-faced, thirst-crazed, delirious man after three days of continuous ground combat – heard the order from his commander: “No retreat! We stand and fight!” and rammed in his last clip. By then he’d long realized he’d never see his daughter’s graduation.
His ammo expended, and no more coming in from “the best and brightest,” he fell among the bodies of 100 of his band of brothers, after mauling his communist enemies to a score of 20 to one.
Again, friends, you tell me how his daughter might feel.
Castro murdered her relatives, shattered her family, and plunged a nation – which had twice as much per capita income as Japan in 1958, plus net immigration from Europe – into a pesthole that repels even half-starved Haitians. He jailed, tortured and murdered more political prisoners than pre-war Hitler, and about 20 times as many as Mussolini.
He asked, pleaded and finally tried to cajole the Butcher of Budapest (Khruschev) into a nuclear strike against America. Failing that, he tried to blow up Macy’s, Gimbel’s, Bloomingdales and Grand Central Station with more TNT than was used by the Madrid subway terrorists.
Yet he’s hailed as “one helluva guy” by Ted Turner; as “very likable, a man I regard as a friend,” by George McGovern; and “way too cool!” by Bonnie Raitt, among dozens upon dozens of other accolades by liberal scoundrels and imbeciles. Today the U.S. is Castro’s biggest food supplier.
Tens of thousands of Cubans (and dozens of Americans) fought him. “We were fighting for Cuba’s freedom as well as America’s defense. To call us mercenaries is a grave insult,” said Alabama Air Guard officer Albert Persons about his Alabama comrades’ heroism during the battle of The Bay of Pigs.
It was more than bluster, too. Four U.S. volunteers – Pete Ray, Riley Shamburger, Leo Barker and Wade Grey – suited up, gunned the engines and joined the fight. These were Southern boys, not pampered ivy leaguers, so there was no navel-gazing. They had archaic notions of right and wrong, of honor and loyalty, of who America’s enemies really are. Their Cuban comrades – men they’d trained and befriended – were being slaughtered on that heroic beachhead. Knowing their lumbering B-26s were sitting ducks for Castro’s unmolested jets and Sea Furies, all four Alabama Air Guard volunteers flew over the doomed beachhead to lend support to their betrayed brothers in arms.
All four were shot down. All four have their names in a place of honor next to their Cuban comrades on The Bay of Pigs Memorial, plus streets named after them in Little Havana, plus their crosses at the Cuban Memorial.
When Douglas MacArthur waded ashore on Leyte, he grabbed a radio: “People of the Philippines: I have returned. By the grace of Almighty God our forces stand again on Philippine soil – soil consecrated in the blood of our two peoples.”
Cuban soil was similarly consecrated.
“My hatred of Bolshevism and Bolsheviks is not founded on their silly system of economics or their absurd doctrine of an impossible equality,” wrote Winston Churchill. “It arises from the bloody and devastating terrorism which they practice in every land into which they have broken, and by which alone their criminal regime can be maintained.”
Sir Winston Churchill did not lose a single family member or close friend to that “bloody and devastating terrorism.” Yet to this day, his every utterance and note is revered as an exemplar of judiciousness and heroism. But let a Cuban-American who lost half his family to communist firing squads and prisons express the identical sentiment and he’s promptly denounced by liberals as a “screaming, irrational hothead.”
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