President Fidel Castro chats with Elián González in Santa Clara, Cuba, last Oct. 24 before the president’s Cuban Culture Day speech.
Poor Elian... Notice that grip Castro has on Elian's arm. Gullible people here believed that Castro won't use Elian for political purposes, and he's done nothing but that ever since.
I still think of Elian and remember him also in prayer.
Elián González, was lucky...he got away from Janet "Burn 'em" Reno alive. :/
Doh! My Elian/Michael Jackson pic got removed! The Horror!
And there were Freepers here, as I vividly recall, who supported this. You know who you are. Any of you care to step up to the plate?
"It's all about Parental Rights." BARFFFFFFFFF!
I predict that Elian will become the next Cuban dictator.
So are we supporting illegal immigration only when its a cute kid and it would really stick it to Castro. I'm sure there's people who support what that militia group in NM is doing that also wanted Elian to stay, people struggle to get here and have family members die trying all the time.
I agree he should have been able to stay and the way it was handled with the raid was wrong, just trying to be devils advocate or whatever.
"Elián González says he wants to be a gymnast when he grows up"
So he can defect, and get out of that hell hole.
Question - After he defects, would President Hillary send him back to Cuba?
Operation Just Reunion!
0400hrs
So there it was. I’d be walking point. In this business, point is where it’s at, but it’s not for the meek. First to Fight, First to Die…it’s what I live for. I-OPS (Department of Justice Intelligence Operations) had confirmed that at any time, we might (and probably would) encounter weapons of mass destruction. Not to mention the fiercest jungle fighters anywhere on the planet.
I guess I can honestly say I was scared. Scared for myself, yeah. But mostly for the 130 brave souls on this suicide mission that we had volunteered for. We waited. We waited some more. Some guys smoked cigarettes, some caught up on letters, some had sex with other soldiers, without first asking or telling what sex they actually were. What would it be like when the action started, I wondered…And suddenly, we got the word we dreaded, yet longed for: it was time!
"Operation Just Reunion" was on!
Some say your life flashes before you when you are about to die. All I know is, my breakfast was flashing past in huge chunks as we jumped into our assault minivans and headed for the battle site. Rumor was out that BJ Company had caught some serious sh** the day before, performing weapons reconnaissance inside the battlefield.
Jeez, were we heading into the jaws of death? I was doing some serious praying on the way out, I really was. We approached the scene…It was the scariest thing I’d ever seen, but in a way I was strangely calm. I reminded myself of other brave men I’d seen on TV.
Then, in an incredible show of testosterone, me and the other grunts blasted our way onto the battlefield. Sweet Jesus, total pandemonium, in an oddly professional way. Shrapnel everywhere. Warrants dropping out of our asses, for chrissakes. I saw a door splinter like it was made of balsa! A deadly weapon in the shape of the Virgin Mary—Holy Sh**, what is THAT all about? We neutralized the threat, because it could have given one of us a nasty conk on the head, if our helmets fell off, or something.
But the worst was yet to come. The enemy had cleverly disguised themselves as peaceful, loving cousins, negotiators, and family members—the worst kind of enemy, we learned in our Commando camp. They were wily bastards, crying like scared puppies, trying to get us to drop our guard, screaming like girlie-men! Sorry, folks, no can do! We knew better…This is the big time, and you are up against the BEST!
Suddenly, I felt the adrenaline pumping through me as I screamed—in a calm and orderly, non-threatening fashion—"Where’s the boy?! Tell me where the boy is, or I’ll shoot!!"
It was really exciting, cause then the family really put on a show! This rather attractive young girl, known from I-OPS as "Marisleysis" (which we had learned earlier is Spanish for "Lying Evil Cousin"), shouted really mean things at us, exposing her teeth as she yelled things in English, which threw us off for a while, because I-OPS had told us to listen for Spanish! Oh, she was good! A Pro! But she didn’t fool me or the 8 other guys in the sector for long. We just screamed at her louder (but nicer) when she begged us to "put the guns down, please, don’t let the boy see them!" and other wimpy sh** like that.
We unscrambled her English code quickly and professionally, toyed with the wicked family for a bit, and then suddenly I heard it! The sound we had been told to expect! It was a slight, hushed whimper, coming from "B" Closet in "Alpha" sector…it was HIM! La Hurricane ("The Hurricane"), and he was putting on his show!
I called out to my men in a loud, masculine, commando-type voice "Over here!", and like the pros they are, they lock-stepped right over with me. I was of course expecting to be shot, incinerated or at least bumped on the head really painfully at any moment, as I-OPS had warned us. But they can’t fool me—mostly, they can’t deter me! For I am the meanest sonovab**ch in full body armor, and don’t you forget it!
I bravely approached the closet where the evil "Monster of Miami" was—we knew it, and my blood ran cold. We felt his eerie presence—hell we SMELLED it. But we are the feds, and let me tell you, you don’t THINK about messing with us! Suddenly out of the closet burst the most frightening, fearsome human being I had ever seen…WAS HE HUMAN?!
Great god almighty, I thought, as my mind raced, this 50-pound dynamo had the iciest stare and no doubt the most evil dimple I had ever laid my eyes on! I knew at that moment that I was in for it, but in spite of the fear, I fell back on my excellent training. I raised the weapon and…can I stop a second here, do you, would you mind?
OK, the thing is, my gun was under control at all times. And as Mr. Holder had indicated, I didn’t recall whether I really had a weapon, but then I saw the reflection of myself in this photographer’s lens, and OK, I guess I did. But I didn’t have my finger on the trigger. And if I did, I had the safety on, and if it wasn’t on, the gun wasn’t loaded, and if it was loaded, my excellent commando training precluded my accidentally capping some woman or child with the gun, but if that happened, it would be fully justified BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T SEE WHAT I SAW!!!
Oh sh**, here I go…oh, god, please, turn off…turn off the g*dd*m camera a minute! I, I’m sorry, I…I’ll be OK, I’m OK now…OK, see, you were not there! You cannot judge me! This Elian, this Monster, was staring at me, and I tell you it was PETRIFYING!
God, I peed into my jackboots, ruined the crease on my pant legs, and I honest-to-god started quaking more than this Reno guy that we always laugh about—he almost looks like a woman (not that I would ask or tell.)
Anyway, I carefully and with complete control of my gun, aimed near but not at the Monster and the fishy-smelling guy, and…hey wow! Cool! It dawned on me that this was the actual fisherman that rescued that alien from that inner-tube! Whoa, I was like "unbelievable", cause we had learned from I-OPS that he knew Darva Conger, and suddenly I felt better, though my goggles were steaming from the vaporization in my pants.
And then it happened…A couple flashes went off! Oh sh**, hit the deck, hit it, and I hear one of my buddies screaming "Medic! Medic! Help, oh Jesus, I’m hit! Oh sh**", but it was just one of the guys goofing off, so we all laughed, then I realized the flashes came from this photographer, and he had just snapped my picture. I was bummed, because I had left my favorite fatigues at home, and these ones were a bit soiled front and back.....
Anyway, I-OPS had said we didn’t need to kill photographers this time, so I just kicked him in the stomach, because I knew he wanted it. And I left him my card, so his people could call my people to negotiate some upfront cash for me (no monkey points, OK, I didn’t just fall off the halftrack yesterday pal! I want gross!)
OK, so on the way out, we saw the evil Uncle Lazaro, who again was playing scared, whimpering it up for us, frankly scaring the sh** out of some of us, I don’t mind saying! But by the empty beer cans around his armed encampment (which was disguised as a slightly worn, 1976 La-Z-Boy recliner--jesus, those bastards are BRILLIANT!), you could tell that he was drunk as a skunk, just like I-OPS had said. So I gassed the family, as a gesture that we meant them no harm, and because I could.
I had by then handed Hellboy to a swell brave gal, who took off running full cocked like OJ over suitcases. And I have to admit, even in moments as absolutely terrifying as this, you have got to find something to laugh about. Here I was, following this f***ing butch fullback out of the hellhole, and I watched her exit the battlefield and run smack dab into a f***ing bush!
Honest to sh**! I laughed so hard, I peed my pants again. And some of the more intellectual guys said how ironic it was that she ran into a "Bush", kind of as a metaphor for what might happen to the democrats at election time on account of Operation Just Reunion? But see I knew that Clinton had already beaten Bush in ‘92, so I didn’t think it was funny. But I totally have to admit, her full frontal assault into the bush was a highlight of the morning for me.
But not as cool as the fearful yet addictive terror that only freedom warriors, who storm private homes in the dark and whisk away dangerous, explosive menaces can ever know. It’s what I do…I was born to it. I’d die for it. No sh**, I literally laugh at danger.
As cool as it had been, my day wasn’t over yet. I was relaxing and debriefing with the other patriots at the home of this suave, gray-haired lawyer, when we found out that the eight of us had been nicknamed the "Three-Minute Men". Apparently, it was in honor not only of the breathtaking speed and precision of our mission, but also as a "play on words" from the nickname of some idiots from the Revolutionary War, or something. Like we gave a f*** about some assh**es from back in the 70’s!
Anyway, it was about that time that I got a personal call from the President! Of America!!! I tell you, I love this man! He starts out by asking what the party was like, and we reminisced about the day in general, how was the family, and he went like good job for the American people, yadda, yadda, yadda. And we laughed our asses off about the "warrant" thing.
He asked me offhandedly about the gun I didn’t remember having, then he saw Mr. Holder on TV, and he remembered, and then he said hey great work, and he wasn’t at all mad that I got my picture taken and stuff, and he thanked me for using a trigger lock, and it was just really awesome. But he did seem a bit troubled or distant at the time.
Then all of a sudden, he springs to life like he’s had this great idea, or like he just wanked into the Oval Office sink, one, and he says "As a reward for your excellent bravery and for defending the Constitution against the forces of evil, I want to send you and the other brave commandos on an all-expense paid trip to any exotic place you choose. My personal Osprey Helicopter is fueled and waiting!!!"
COOL—OOWWOOOO!!! DUDE, we get to go anywhere we want, on the DOJ’s tab. And he promised me personally that we didn’t even have to tell ANYONE where we were going, and he’d call our bosses and stuff! The guy is so cool, we talked about chicks, and he even asked me about my girlfriend, like where she lived so he could send her a card of gratitude and stuff, and…
Oh here I go again, oh sh**! I’m sorry, I just am so emotional! I…Oh, geez, sorry, I’m OK. God I love that man! God bless that brave honorable man—just about the best danged president in the whole danged country EVER!
So that’s my story. I do not tell it to enlarge my credentials, or to brag about my performance in combat. WAR IS HELL! I tell it so that others might follow in my jackboots and defend the Constitution. True, I answered the patriot call. Yes, I am proud that I put my ASS on the line for democracy, the Constitution, and the Clinton Rule of Law! Yes, I’m proud that we were the "Best and the Brightest" in that fearful predawn battle.
But most of all, I am proud that from here on out, the photo of me staring down the very face of evil will replace trite, worn-out scenes like the flag being planted on Iwo Jima. Now we truly have an icon more glorious than all others, which will represent just exactly what America stands for in the Year of our President 2000!
G*dd*m, I am so proud to be an American today!!! Is Clinton AWESOME, or what!! Don’t wait up!!! I am 10-4 outtahere!!!
Posted by China Clipper,27 April 2000, Free Republic.
If not for that poor little boy, Gore would have been in charge when 9/11 happened. I shudder when I think of that.
"living a ‘normal’ life"
Yeah, sure he is. I hope he can tell us all about his 'normal' life someday.
I think if Elian had been able to stay in the US, his father would have secretly been happy. Oh sure, he would have been sad (and would have pretended to be more sad), but he would have been happy that his son was living in the US, in freedom.
Oh, is that what the Cold War was?
ping
The article gushes about Elian's quote "normal life" as if living in Cuba is no different than living here in the US. Gag! They describe Elian's life, but then mention the armed guards stationed at his house, and they mention the "psychiatrist" Elian saw to help him "cope" with what happened .
The lazy worthless "journalist" talks about the "rallies" and all the people who "rallied" like people in Cuba have a choice about attending the rallies. Here's a News Flash for the stupid- people who don't "attend" Castro's rallies are sent to prison.
I hear everyone obsessing about his "father" comment about Castro and how bad his uncles were, but the one thing he makes clear is he wants to see them. After he is 12, 13, or 14 years old there would be enormous pressure on Castro (or the next dictator) to let him see his uncles.
It would lay the ground work for more trips and a future request for asylum. Their is precedent for adolescents as young as 11 to be given the right of self determination and be granted asylum. He is clearly being forced to say all the other things which do not actually implicate any action on his part except to see his uncles.
This piece is not necessarily as bad as it seems.