Saturday, March 08, 2025

Civil Workers, Uncivil Problem: 

The 1934 Civil Works Administration Strike in Utica, New York


The history of the labor movement in the Mohawk Valley is an extremely rich yet untapped field. This is not to say that there’s no labor historiography of the region, but it seems lacking compared to other areas of New York. Utica itself has experienced or been adjacently involved with a number of strikes since at least the mid-19th century. The textile strike of 1919, the newspaper strike of 1967, the teachers strike of 1971, these are only a few of the likely dozens if not hundreds of strikes that have occurred in this city, let alone the whole of the Mohawk Valley. I’ve made it my mission as a historian to highlight the hidden radical kernels of the Mohawk Valley, including community action, politics, and of course, the labor movement. One piece of labor history that’s gone unseen is the 1934 strike held by workers employed by the Civil Works Administration program.

On March 12, 1934, employees of the Civil Works Administration (CWA), a New Deal project designed for job creation to alleviate symptoms of the Great Depression, initiated a strike after facing a reduction in wages. Projects involving the CWA around Utica were put to a screeching halt when a reported 2,000 workers out of 2,500 organized to protest their wages being cut from fifty cents an hour to forty cents, in addition to a reduction of their weekly hours from thirty hours a week to twenty-four. The following day, between 600 and 700 workers representing the strike embarked on a march through the city headed for the office the city’s CWA director’s office. The goal of this march was simply to speak with the program’s director, one Howard Graburn, and demand “a square deal.” Seven workers, part of a “grievance committee,” met with Graburn. As stated at this meeting:

They told him they could not live on $9.60 a week, the amount to be provided on the basis of an order last week from Washington. Until that order came, the men hard earned $15 a week.

The CWA strike shares similarities with several other strikes before, during, and after it in that the police immediately labeled the workers as agitators and demonized their fight as one based on violent tactics. Then-Police Chief Timothy D. McCarthy even believed the idea that the workers were going to the director’s office to “tear the building down.” McCarthy even went as far as sending an emergency squad to the CWA office where one Captain Denis Jankiewicz urged the office to dismiss clerical staff and put the building under lockdown. Jankiewicz’s suggestion was rejected by Chester Smith, the associate director of the Utica office. Of course, this wasn’t the case. The march went off without a single reported incident of violence or use of inflammatory, agitative rhetoric. Patrick McCabe, one of the leaders of this strike, asserted that there would be no violence on the part of him or his fellow workers.

McCabe was integral in providing a voice for his disgruntled comrades. As one of the leaders he signed highly important telegrams sent out to the heads of the CWA in both Washington and New York State. According to one paper, the telegrams go as follows:

The several hundred employees of the CWA here in Utica have quietly left their work and have protested the cut in wages and hours because the same is not keeping up with the spirit of this work as directed by our noble president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

We ask that we be given thirty hours a week and fifty cents an hour which was paid at the beginning of this work.

Accusations of violence from the police here parallel the experiences of striking workers during the Little Falls Textile Strike of 1912-1913. Despite assertions from figures in the strike such as George R. Lunn, Helen Schloss, and several others for the strikers to utilize non-violent tactics in their fight, the police continuously painted the strikers and their supporters in the Socialist Party of America (SPA) and the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) as agitators who would only bring violence to Little Falls. The strikers faced constant accusations of violence and disruptiveness, but several accounts show that any violence was instigated by the police and the privately hired deputies brought in by the mill owners.

CWA workers in Utica held further grievances with the fact that the white-collar sector of the CWA offices were spared from the cuts that the blue-collar sector faced. A textbook example of classism, leaders of the Utica protests presented a demand for the publication of the names and salaries of the clerical staff who for some reason weren’t thrown into the same perils that they were.

Part of what makes the CWA strikers’ plight so intriguing is that it held valley-wide and national implications. According to one paper, when the strikers presented their issues to Graburn, the director announced that: “…all the strikers might return to work in the morning with the exception of 200 who had been working on protecting walls in a creek project.”

Though they reportedly were spared from these cuts branches of the CWA in the nearby towns of New York Mills, Whitesboro, and Yorkville told McCabe that there was serious consideration to initiate a “sympathy strike” in solidarity with their fellow workingmen. This proposed sympathy strike wouldn’t end up materializing, but the threat of a mass uprising of workers in the Mohawk Valley was present even if only for a very brief period. In the same vein, workers in numerous other cities throughout the country went on strike due to these cuts coming from the federal level. One article highlights strikes in Boston, Massachusetts, in addition to both Bristol and Allenton, Pennsylvania with various motivations, ranging from demanding a return to their previous wages to the reinstating of laid off workers.

Just two days after flooding the streets of Utica, the CWA workers’ demands were officially met on Wednesday the 14th, at least partially. One article from The Daily Sentinel in Rome states that the Utica workers would be regaining both their fifty cents an hour and their thirty-hour workweek, however this is only mentioned in part of the article’s title. Two pieces from The Glens Falls Times point only to the return to the fifty cents. One piece from the paper has no mention of a return to thirty hours, and one published on March 15 states that although the pay would return to normal, the hours would not. Despite the apparent compromise basically thrusted upon the workers, McCabe was met with a roaring applause when he announced to his comrades that they would be able to return to work on Thursday with their original wages.

The Civil Works Administration program would be retired at the end of March, meaning that in retrospect the fight of those in Utica only seemed to delay the inevitable. That being said though, the strike is still of great significance in that it exemplifies the power of organized labor in defending the interests of the working class, in addition to shedding light on the radical history of the Mohawk Valley. May we be inspired by history and use this history of struggle to help us understand how to approach the problems of our day.FacebookTwitter

J.N. Cheney is an aspiring Marxist historian. His research primarily focuses on the labor movement, radical politics, and community action in New York State's Mohawk Valley. He holds a BA in History. Read other articles by J.N..

 

The Fates of Gaza


What lies ahead is the beginning of something more difficult and greater. Ahead of us are years filled with sorrow that will never end, days of accumulated pain, and long hours of crying and lamenting. Our wounds are much deeper than they can easily heal. Surely, their scars will remain etched in us for as long as we live, like a thorn deeply embedded in the left side of our chests. We are now living with the hope of reunion, searching for a ray of light in a world filled with darkness, our faces disfigured by blood, and our hearts turned to stone.

— Maryam Hasanat, Gaza Refugee, January 17, 2025—two days after Hamas and Israel signed a ceasefire agreement.

I first met Maryam on Facebook in March of 2024. I had briefly written about her in my story The Women Who Live Between the Barbed Wire and the Sea—about the trials of Gaza refugee women from six different families. That story began with a line about Maryam: “In the next few days, after this story gets published, I will either save a pregnant woman and her child’s life, or I will fail.” This is the rest of her story.

Maryam was twenty-five years old, a college graduate, a wife and a mother to a two-year-old son. Now she faced death.

She always talked to me in a kind, matter-of-fact way, answering my questions as if she was not in the middle of a genocide. “My family consists of nine people and we live in a very small tent. I am seven months pregnant and it is very hard to give birth in such circumstances.”

Maryam wanted me to help her fundraise so she, her husband Mohammad and her son Kamal could evacuate to Egypt, a typical refugee request. And, unfortunately, she had also had a typical refugee experience: “In November the IDF (Israeli Defense Force) shot my brother-in-law as he was on his way to see his wife and children. They refused to allow an ambulance to retrieve him until after he bled to death.”

By then I was used to stories like that so I wasn’t surprised at all. At least her other family members were still alive, even if they were all homeless like her. They had survived the winter and lack of food, but Maryam faced a more severe dilemma: “I needed a C-section for my first child and I will need a C-section for this one, but there is no anesthesia available.”

A relative of hers had faced similar circumstances three weeks prior, so the hospital performed the C-section without anesthesia. Mother and child both died of shock.

Maryam’s timeline was short. Her baby was due in late May. We needed to collect twenty-five thousand  dollars, get one of her relatives outside of Gaza to withdraw it in cash, fly to Egypt, and bribe the officials to get permission to cross the border. She clung to me in terror.

“Please help me set up a GoFundMe campaign. I will die without your help,” she pleaded.

I promised her I would find someone. I wasn’t worried about the outcome. I thought our meeting was ordained by Fate. I had always admired the Virgin Mary, most of the women in my family were named Mary and Maryam was a writer like my mother. She even studied under Refaat Alareer, the famous Palestinian poet. That’s all I needed to know. I played my role accordingly and started calling everyone I knew.

Maryam messaged me everyday in tears, doubtful it would work.

“I’m scared!’ she said in the middle of the night as bombs were falling all around her.

“Don’t worry,” I replied. “It’s going to happen.”

“But it’s so complicated. It will take time. What if they can not arrange for me to travel before I give birth?”

“The money will come. Give it a week or two.” My confidence never waivered.

A friend of a friend named Mark Hoffman volunteered to help. He opened the fundraiser and broadcast Maryam’s story everywhere. Between us, our acquaintances donated many thousands of dollars, but it still wasn’t enough.

Then #OperationOliveBranch, a Western Pro-Palestinian group trying to help individual families in Gaza, picked the story up and made a reel for it that went viral on social media.

“Please stop what you’re doing and watch this video in its entirety…” Hi’ilani, a spokeswoman for the organization, demanded.

And people did. The GoFundMe received hundreds of individual donations. Maryam had $40,000 in a week.

“It’s such a miracle!” she said. “You have brought hope to my heart.”

The proper arrangements were made. The family scheduled a day to leave a month before the baby’s due date. We were all relieved. Then, the day before they were supposed to go, Israel threatened to invade Rafah and close the border. They had a tiny window of opportunity to make it. They were going to be okay. Then, the morning they were supposed to leave, Maryam went into labor.

Another mother and child would face death together. Luckily, the premature delivery and winter malnourishment meant the baby was small, so Maryam didn’t need a C-section. She gave birth to a healthy baby girl named Talia on May 1st.

For the length of a breath, Maryam was happy. They wanted to reschedule the crossing. Then Israel invaded Rafah and the bombs crept closer and closer. The IDF closed the border. Refugees fled while Maryam’s family grasped what little hope remained.

“I don’t know what to do. We are scheduled to evacuate to Egypt. What if they open the border for a short time and we’re not here? All would be lost.”

“You should leave,” I said.

They did, seeking sanctuary in the seaside town of Al-Mawasi where most of the other refugees had gone. Maryam sent me photos of the beach. The cool blue water and white sand betrayed a war run by the stark raving mad. Explosions dominated the night sky, while the sun scorched the Earth during the day. Fresh food became almost impossible to find.

“Yesterday, we ate an apple,” Maryam exclaimed one day. Even the simplest pleasures had become luxuries.

In early July Maryam’s family moved to the third floor of a warehouse, setting up a tent under the ceiling with money from the GoFundMe.

“I chose to live under this roof,” she told me. “It was a difficult decision. My heart was tired and my children were suffocating in the tent in the summer’s heat.”

Every comfort required money. From garbage collection to the internet. Supplies needed for survival cost ten times what they should. Every one lived under tarps or inside tents. Even the wealthy looked like paupers.

Maryam prayed for relief: “Alhamdulillah, I trust in God that he will never let me down.”

For the rest of the summer and early fall we barely talked. Maryam’s family had enough food and clean water. None of them had been killed in the nightly bombing. No news meant good news. Then October 7, 2024 came around. I couldn’t believe this genocidal war was still going on. I had published half a dozen stories on Palestinians, and all had survived so far. Now, I expected them to start dying. They couldn’t stay safe forever.

Maryam messaged me in November: “The situation is extremely tough. We don’t have enough food. I never imagined we would reach this point.”

Israel was stopping more and more aid trucks from entering Gaza. Medical supplies dwindled. Maryam’s uncle couldn’t get medication for his diabetes and high blood pressure. In December he collapsed and died in the middle of the night. Then another relative was shot by the IDF that month when he went to check on his house in an abandoned part of Gaza. Finally, just before Christmas, Maryam’s friend and her baby were killed by shrapnel from a rocket that landed on a house across the street.

Maryam messaged me on Christmas: “The situation worsens with each passing day, and all I feel around me is fear. I hope this will end before we do.”

I asked Maryam about her college professor to distract her.

“He was my favorite teacher; he always encouraged me,” she said.

Maryam showed me the sweet texts he sent to her from university:

“Where on Earth is Maryam? She is wanted dead or alive!”

“Oh wow! For what?”

“For killing us with her poetry and then running away.”

After reading his Star Wars-esque Gaza Writes Back, a collection of short stories written by his students, I had the feeling he treated all of them that way.

Unfortunately, his kind nature couldn’t save him. The IDF had already killed over thirty members of his extended family by 2021 (They have a long history of going after artists and writers.), and now the Israelis were deliberately targeting the places he sought refuge in. They taunted him in phone calls, saying they knew where he was hiding. They eventually caught up to Refaat at his sister’s apartment, destroying it with a missile on December 6th, 2023. He was forty-four years old.

“After Refaat passed away he became widely known around the world,” Maryam said. “But a year has passed and he still lies buried in the rubble.”

Then, unexpectedly: a ceasefire, a way out. We were shocked. Maryam was so excited she wrote the opening passage to this story and sent it to me with a note to publish it.

A week later, after the ceasefire officially began, Maryam sent me one last message:

We will return to northern Gaza the day after tomorrow. Certainly, all we will find there is rubble and destruction. Everyone will move there and begin setting up tents again, starting from scratch—actually, from less than scratch! Despite that, we long to return; it is our homeland, even if it’s just a pile of stones and sand.

Then, just as I was about to finish this story, I met a Palestinian in my small city who was friends with Maryam’s famous professor. The Fates were at work again.Facebook

Eros Salvatore is a writer and filmmaker living in Bellingham, Washington. They have been published in the journals Anti-Heroin Chic and The Blue Nib among others, and have shown two short films in festivals. They have a BA from Humboldt State University, and a foster daughter who grew up under the Taliban in a tribal area of Pakistan. Read other articles by Eros, or visit Eros's website.

 

Capitalism and the Lexicon of Loneliness


Your wounds demand you speak your truth


De Chirico, Giorgio, Solitudine - Fondazione Ragghianti
Giorgio de Chirico, Solitude, 1917

I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.
— Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

Deep down, we struggle to come upon accurate words to describe the terrible beauty of our aloneness. In this plight, we are together. In this musing, I, listening to the music of my heart, will attempt to hobble through and send back dispatches conveying a lexicon of aloneness.

A lesson I hope to learn by scribing a travelog of the dark: I’ve noticed, people who have survived the howling abyss of abandonment, and have been freed from its grip of grief, have been transfigured by the ordeal. Rarely, as a consequence, do such individuals act as errand boys, muscle or apologists of oppressors.

They have snatched this from the mouth of despair, it would be tragic to be false to the forces that formed them. Thus make a vow to self: Do not pretend to be anything other than yourself attempting to gain the approval of heartless authority and petty tyrants of the everyday kind. Your wounds demand you speak your truth.

A Special Appearance of Leonardo's Saint Jerome - DailyArt Magazine

Saint Jerome in the Wilderness – Leonardo Da Vinci (1480, unfinished)

Even in our cultural atomization, we are connected to those cast out; we are bonded to society’s denizens of the dark, to those who feel the pain of the suffering earth; to those who the misnomer known as normalcy casts from conscious awareness; to those who capitalist functionality (i.e., crackpot realism) brutalize, kick to the curb, and condemns to madness and death… yet life on life’s terms, confronts us with innumerable, seemly infinite connections. Within, we mirror all things. We, unbeknownst to ourselves, communicate with all things. Not only the realm of the human but soil, ocean, storm, star, galaxy, electron…

We, moment to moment, travel the bridge between each other’s heartbeats. We are connected both with what we love and what we shun. Moreover, what we cast out and shun will return as affliction. Hence, the earth herself is unwell and she rages in floods and firestorms.

Breathe in deep, clear your throat and make exhortations on behalf of the voiceless. If you have a gift for music, compose and play them a song, let the weary take refuge in the rest between musical notes. Display sacred vehemence towards life-defying oppressors who contrive to make the life of the many a prison by incarceration of the heart.

500 Random Artworks: 476. Femme Maison (Woman House) - Louise Bourgeois -  1947-48

Louise Bourgeois, The Femme Maison

When the culture of a nation, intoxicated on extraverted mania inherent to Mephistophelian capitalism, disallows the visions of its denizens of despair into the conversation, compensatory angels borne from the unconscious (what people in times past knew as the soul) will descend bringing on a cultural darkness. In the sterile, clinical language of our time, the phenomenon is termed a pandemic of depression.

Emissaries, invisible in daylight glare, appear in the dreams of the scorned and forsaken; the visitors whisper verse to those capable of stillness, and guide the willing into moments of inadvertent reprieve. In short, deliverance occurs by means of easing the burden of self – which is a gentle way of saying, aiding one in getting the living hell over oneself. These emissaries impart the message the visible world can be a mirage. Hope is an invisible force allied with luminous angels whose light would blind us upon sight. Hence, we are moved to transformation by a force not perceptible during quotidian day.

Paradoxically, because all things arrive freighted with their opposite (enantiodromia) bearers of hope are, often, those aforementioned lonely, despair-wracked individuals driven to stand at the edge of the abyss — the abjectly lonely who have been moved, by desperation, to implore the unseen for mercy.

No person wants to arrive at such a place. One would choose, and most do, a mundane life wherein we follow the signposts, on an exclusive basis, of the visible world — yet is, in essence, given our human proclivity for habitual self-reference, a graceless tour of a house of mirrors. Oh – the hellish mix of confusion and blandness of the choice.

Evening On Karl Johan (1892) by Edvard Munch – Artchive

Evening on Karl Johan Street , Edvard Munch, 1892

Prayer before sleep: Lord of nightmares bestow grace on me by allowing me to be reborn from within the womb of night. Despair’s blackness grants the intrepid traveller the ability to navigate darkness; thereby avoiding a life defined by the limbo of complacency.

A person open to being ministered to, thus transformed, by a numinous voice, calling from the darkness at the edge of the daylight world, will, in all likelihood, spend their days alone, all too often suffering the pain of wounds inflicted by rejection. Loneliness will be a constant companion.

But as Rilke avers in verse:

You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! –
powers and people-

and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.
I have faith in nights. — Rainer Maria Rilke, You Darkness

I Like America and America Likes Me, 1974 - Joseph Beuys - WikiArt.org

Joseph Beuys, I Like America and America Likes Me, 19781

Often, a shunned soul, one who travelled through the world of mindless consensus’ inferno of fuckwit and has returned, will be put on the defensive by normalcy’s bullies and challenged to make an accounting of himself – i.e., to account for the unaccountable. In the end, one who has seen and survived one’s own darkness, will be able to apprehend the darkness within his inquisitors. At the speed of a synapse, his tormentors will go from bullying to claiming victimization.

For, when backed against the wall, he is often moved to speak in a soul-plangent lexicon that causes a collapse, even for an instant, of his tormentor’s protective yet ad hoc walls of coping — thus revealing the fragile banality that governs their lives. In so doing, he has committed an act, in nice society, that will never be forgiven.

Rilke surveys the scene and sends back this dispatch in verse:

Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly
circling, around the peak’s pure denial. – But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart. – Exposed On The Mountains Of My Heart, Rainer Maria Rilke

Rene Magritte The Glass Key by Dan Hill Galleries

René Magritte, The Glass Key, 1959

Stop for a moment and take it all in. This life…on our earth. The beauty. The terror. Notice: The terror involved in taking in the beauty of it all. The act will awaken your heart. Ask yourself: Am I on my heart’s path? Or does this road lead me, again and again, into the dominion of exploiters? If you received an affirmative in regard to the latter question, I suggest, after you cease weeping – a sane response to you taking notice of the heart-devoid landscape where you have strayed – ask yourself: How can I reorient myself as to the direction of my heart’s path?

Do you feel thwarted by circumstance, by the inherent miseries in facing capitalist hierarchies of immovable power and the system’s architecture of exploitation? Rebel by engagement with the eternity delivery system of the imagination. Doing so does not translate into idle fantasy. By a receptivity to originality, by being moved to enthusiasm by acts of creativity…will provide the libido to trundle through the living landscape of imagination; thereby, one does not need to be an artist to live and engage the world in an artful manner.

Become a one person hallelujah chorus for originality. Within you, glide wheels of fire. The valley of bones rises as an army of flesh. This is your exodus out of bondage.

René Magritte (Belgian, 1898–1967). The Healer (Le Thérapeute), 1937. Oil  on canvas; 92 × 65 cm (36 1/4 × 25 9/16 in.). Private collection. © Charly  Herscovici – ADAGP – ARS, 2014 | Art Institute of Chicago

René Magritte, The Healer, 1937

Phil Rockstroh is a poet, lyricist, and essayist. His poems, short fiction, poetry and essays have been published in numerous print publications and anthologies; his political essays have been widely posted on the progressive/left side of the internet. Visit and subscribe to  Phil’s Substack newsletter at https://substack.com/@philrockstrohRead other articles by Phil.

 

Reflections on the Life of a Cuban-American Exile Hardliner


Collaboration with Empire, Economic Warfare, and Immiseration of His Own People


“One should never speak ill of the dead,” so the old cliché goes about the recently deceased. Those with less inclination toward sentimentality, however, hold that this rule applies only to those who have lived a life exclusively in private and whose actions have had an effect only among their close-knit circle of family, friends, coworkers and neighbors. For those who have lived a public life and who have wielded power over others in a political capacity, their decision to live such a life exempts them from this freedom-from-criticism even, or perhaps especially, in death. For it is in the aftermath of a public figure’s passing that they will receive the greatest adulation, and the temptation to minimize their misdeeds will be most pronounced.

In the case of Lincoln Diaz-Balart, the former Florida congressmember who passed away on March 3, 2025, aged 70, there are two further factors at play. First, there is the fact that he died at a time in which the great majority of his obituaries, because of the power structure of the media industry and its overwhelming deference to the US’s two duopoly parties, will be long on lionizing and short on criticism. Second, there is the fact that Diaz-Balart evidently did not himself buy into this notion, at least if his reactions to the deaths of his political adversaries such as Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez are anything to go by. Indeed, he said shortly after the death of Fidel Castro: “The brain of evil, of that tyranny, and of, really, the movement throughout this hemisphere against democracy, against the rule of law, in favor of terrorism, in support of narco-trafficking… that brain and coordinator has died.” Following the death of Hugo Chavez, he said: “Hugo Chavez was a puppet of Fidel Castro.”

And so it falls to an independent journalist writing in alternative media to provide some balance and critical analysis of Diaz-Balart’s political career. But I do have some special insight into the man’s life and politics. Diaz-Balart’s family knew my mother’s family in Cuba and then in Miami after both left the island following the 1959 overthrow of Fulgencio Batista. I interned for a short time at his office in Washington, which ironically had the effect of turning me into an anti-imperialist, so disgusted I was with the hypocrisy, double-standards and shameless self-interestedness of his foreign policy stances.

It was when I asked one of his staffers why Diaz-Balart didn’t advocate for an “embargo” against Saudi Arabia, on the same grounds on which he advocates one against Cuba and with the same condition that it be lifted only when its ruler (an absolute monarch, no less) agrees to hold “free and fair” elections, that I had an epiphany that has stayed with me and influenced my political trajectory ever since. Hearing his dissembling and derisory answer (that “the alternative would be worse”) made me realize the most central truth about US foreign policy: that Washington’s sole criterion for its treatment of other countries is not their democratic credentials, their human rights record, their good governance or lack thereof, or the integrity of their institutions, but rather the extent to which they are obedient to US geostrategic and, especially, US economic interests. What else could explain Washington’s obsequious treatment of the Saudi Wahhabiist state? And how could it be a coincidence that the US had privileged access to its oil reserves and made money for its military industrial complex via lucrative arms contracts?

Following travels through Latin America, graduate studies in international affairs, immersion in the work of figures such as Saul Landau and Greg Grandin, and growing involvement in activism and writing about the region, this realization evolved into a deeper understanding of the US’s role on the world stage. Far from Diaz-Balart’s notion of a benevolent United States standing up for the “American values” of democracy, the rule of law, and so on, the so-called ‘shining city on the hill’ is, in fact, a ruthless rogue state that constantly intervenes in other countries’ affairs and constantly flouts international law. And it not only sides with and actively props up, but sometimes even installs, some of the worst governments throughout the globe. Indeed, far from supporting democracy, the US has overthrown countless democratically-elected governments not to its liking. This has been especially pronounced in the US’s so-called “backyard,” which Grandin has described in his book of the same name as “Empire’s Workshop.”

The fact that Diaz-Balart made a career out of collaborating with this rogue state in waging a decades-long economic war against his own country and, by extension, his own people will stand as the most salient thing about his political life and legacy. Shortly after the Cuban Revolution in 1959, the US administration of Dwight D. Eisenhower imposed a number of punitive measures on Cuba. These have been progressively increased by subsequent US administrations of both parties ever since. Together they have come to be known as the “embargo” against Cuba though are more accurately described as an economic blockade because they penalize third countries. Though President Barack Obama reestablished diplomatic relations with Cuba in 2016, the blockade has nonetheless remained in place. His successors to the White House, Donald Trump and Joe Biden, rolled back many of his reforms and, in the case of Trump, strengthened the blockade by enacting further coercive measures.

Diaz-Balart was elected to congress in 1989 and is best known for serving as the author of much of the legislation that codified the blockade into law. The fact that he did this while making out that it was all done for the good of the Cuban people makes it all the more despicable. After all, the Cuban-American exile brigade frequently invokes the suffering of the Cubans left in Cuba as justification for the blockade. Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, another Cuban-American exile hardliner who also served as a congressmember representing a district in South Florida, spelled it out in her statement about Diaz-Balart’s death: “The oppressed people of Cuba had no greater advocate for their freedom than Lincoln [Diaz-Balart].”

Yet it is the blockade itself that has been the primary cause of their suffering. According to UN figures, it has caused over $160 billion of damage to the Cuban economy. The Center for International Policy, meanwhile, has stated that the blockade has “created a situation of scarcity and uncertainty that has affected all aspects of Cuban society.” Though no hard data exists on the number of deaths caused by the blockade, a 1997 study by the American Association for World Health concluded, as The Los Angeles Times put it, that it “has significantly increased suffering and deaths in the Caribbean nation.” Needless to say, Diaz-Balart also supported the same kind of measures against Nicaragua and Venezuela, which have imposed on those countries’ people similar levels of suffering and hardship.

Because the blockade is based on unilateral coercive measures rather than multilateral sanctions, it is illegal under international law. It also violates international law because it is a form of collective punishment that harms Cuba’s civilian population rather than ostensible targets in the government. As a result, the blockade stands in the opprobrium of the international community, with practically every country in the world other than the US and its proxy state, Israel, voting in favor of a UN resolution condemning it. The measure has passed with the vast majority of UN General Assembly members’ support every year since the vote was first held in 1992.

The blockade outlaws almost all direct trade between Cuba and the US with minor exemptions for medicine, some foodstuffs, and humanitarian goods. Diaz-Balart not only opposed these exemptions but advocated for what he termed a “secondary boycott,” which would have meant that any company that invested in Cuba would have been disallowed from doing business in the US as well. Of course, the Cuban-American exile brigade propaganda response to this is the notion that “Cuba can trade with the rest of the world.” Left unsaid is the fact that the blockade penalizes third countries for trading with Cuba. The State Department has prosecuted and fined several European banks for violating the terms of the embargo. The French bank Société Générale was fined a whopping $1.3 billion in 2018!

This practice massively disincentivizes other countries and their companies from doing any type of business with Cuba. Diaz-Balart openly stated during his time in congress that another major purpose of the blockade is to keep hard currency out of the hands of the Cuban government. This difficulty in accessing the four currencies accepted for international trade on the global market (the US dollar, the Pound sterling, the euro and the Japanese yen) also makes it very difficult for the Cuban government to trade with other nations.

If the blockade isn’t meant to alleviate the suffering of the Cuban people, then what is its purpose? For Diaz-Balart, its purpose was twofold. First, it formed part of the vendetta that he held against the revolution and its leaders. Diaz-Balart, like so many leaders of South Florida’s Cuban-American exile community, came from a family that was close to the US-backed Batista government and formed part of Cuba’s internal quisling class who served as proxies of US economic imperialism. Diaz-Balart’s father was deputy minister of the interior in Batista’s government and was later elected to the Cuban Senate in 1958 on a pro-Batista platform but was unable to take his seat due to the revolution the following year.

Though a central part of Cuban-American exile folklore is the idea that “Free Cuba” “fell” to Fidel Castro’s 26th of July Movement, the reality is that Batista was himself a dictator who had come to power via a coup in 1952. His fascist government operated a secret police force that tortured and murdered political opponents. The estimate of 20,000 dead is the figure often touted as the total number of his victims but even CIA documents say this is likely a massive undercount as it, according to a 1963 CIA memorandum declassified in 2005, “includes only a relatively small number killed in actual military encounters.” The document adds: “The [Batista] regime’s campaign of terror got out of control and the government in Havana probably had no clear idea of how many killings the police and army forces were committing.”

Batista also allowed the mafia to control large swaths of the economy in exchange for bribes. When the 26th of July Movement toppled his government in 1959, he was so unpopular that an opinion poll held at the time showed that 86 percent of Cubans supported the revolution. The above cited CIA memorandum likewise states that “the anti-Batista forces… by mid-1958 had the support of 80 to 90 percent of the population.” So Diaz-Balart’s support for the blockade was motivated by a wish for revenge not just against the revolutionary leaders themselves but against the people who remained in Cuba for the crime of supporting the overthrow of the US-backed dictator to which his family owed its power and privilege and their support for Fidel Castro and the revolution he led.

Support for the revolution has remained substantial throughout the decades and Castro remained a popular figure until his death in 2016. Even documents published by the State Department’s Office of the Historian have conceded that “substantial numbers still support [the revolution] with enthusiasm” and that before his death Castro retained “widespread support among the poorer classes, particularly in the countryside.” Though it is purely speculation, I suspect that Diaz-Balart knew this full well all along, as do his brother and Ros-Lehtinen.

The second reason Diaz-Balart supported the blockade was because it creates leverage for the US to impose its will on the island. In the case that the Cuban government falls, so goes the logic, the US would be able to dictate how Cuba should be organized both politically and economically. Diaz-Balart made no secret of this, stating openly that his vision of a “free” Cuba would mean both “free elections” and “free markets.” Of course, for a small Caribbean country like Cuba with a history of US domination, so-called “free markets” would translate into a surrender of its economic sovereignty to an imperial hegemon. Indeed, before the revolution Cuba’s economy had been divvied up to US corporations with much of the profit leaving the country to line the pockets of US-based shareholders. This was one of the major grievances against the Batista dictatorship held by the majority of the Cuban population at the time and articulated by the revolutionary leaders.

In terms of “free elections,” if the Cuban Communist Party or some other socialist party ran in the election and won in spite of Washington trying to rig it (as it most certainly would), does anyone seriously think that the Cuban-American exile hardliners or the US government would accept the result? And how could an election in Cuba be “free and fair” if the US continues to channel millions of dollars per year (so far over $200 million overall) into opposition groups intent on destroying the social gains of the revolution and handing Cuba’s economy back to the US and its domestic quislings? Indeed, what the Cuban-American exile brigade want is not a return to democracy but rather a return to their position of power, whether it be under a US-backed dictatorship or a US-rigged sham liberal democratic system.

Like the Diaz-Balart family, many of the South Florida-based Cuban-American exiles themselves come from this collaborationist bourgeoisie that served as the US’s proxy administrators of empire and wish to reestablish their class privilege in a “liberated,” that is to say, capitalist and US-dominated, Cuba. And though such people claim that they were persecuted and driven out of the country by the revolutionary government, the reality is that many left voluntarily because they were despised by the great majority of Cuban people for their association with the US-backed Batista and would be again if they returned.

In addition to his vindictiveness, Diaz-Balart’s support for the blockade was also deeply hypocritical. At the very same time he sanctimoniously bloviated about Cuba’s supposed deservingness of this treatment, he was not only turning a blind eye but actively working to enable some of the world’s worst human rights violators. For example, he not only never once introduced any measure condemning Israel’s occupation, displacement, denial of rights, and humiliation of the Palestinian people, but shamelessly took campaign contributions from the hardline Zionist special interest group American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) and staunchly supported its agenda in his congressional votes.

AIPAC posted on X shortly following his death: “We mourn the passing of former Rep. Lincoln Diaz-Balart who was a stalwart supporter of the U.S.-Israel relationship. Rep. Diaz-Balart was a strong ally of the pro-Israel community and we extend our condolences to his family.” Diaz-Balart’s supporters would surely respond that Israel is a “democracy.” But Israel can hardly be considered a “democracy” when it is practicing ethnic apartheid not just according to Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and the late Jimmy Carter but even according to its former attorney-general and the former head of Mossad.

Diaz-Balart also never signed any resolution condemning human rights violations in Colombia during the presidency of Alvaro Uribe. On the contrary, in 2008 Diaz-Balart said in a statement: “The United States Congress must stand in solidarity with President Alvaro Uribe… Colombia is our strongest ally in the region.” His brother Mario Diaz-Balart, also a congress member representing a South Florida district, was present at a ceremony where Uribe was awarded with a Presidential Medal of Freedom. During Uribe’s presidency, Colombia had what many including NACLA have described as “the worst human rights record in the Western Hemisphere.”

Uribe’s so-called “counter-narcotics” campaigns, for example, saw government-allied paramilitary death squads displace rural populations and murder union activists, social leaders, or whoever else stood in the way of powerful multinational corporations and wealthy landowners. For several years during Uribe’s presidency and for some years afterwards, Colombia held the dubious distinction of being the most dangerous country in the world for trade unionists. Colombia’s population of internally displaced persons, meanwhile, currently stands at about 7 million people. The number surged during Uribe’s presidency as a direct result of this paramilitary activity. Human Rights Watch stated in 2005: “In the last three years alone, nearly 5 percent of Colombia’s 43 million people has been forcibly displaced.” (Uribe’s time in office began in 2002.)

Diaz-Balart’s relationship with Uribe, in fact, perfectly demonstrates his extreme hypocrisy regarding two accusations he hurled at the Cuban government: support for narco-trafficking and terrorism. In the case of narco-trafficking, declassified US intelligence documents say that Uribe collaborated with the Medellin Cartel and that the organization financed his campaign for the Colombian Senate. In terms of terrorism, the Parapolitics scandal revealed ties between dozens of Uribe’s political allies (including his cousin Mario Uribe) and right-wing paramilitary organizations such as the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC), which the US government itself designates as a terrorist organization.

This was at the very time that Diaz-Balart was one of the major advocates of the US listing Cuba as a state-sponsor of terrorism. The basis for this included dubious claims about ties to Colombia’s Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) along with vague allusions to Cuban cooperation with Iran, another supposed state-sponsor of terrorism. Leaving aside the credibility of these assertions, in addition to his association with Uribe, Diaz-Balart himself frequently associated with and advocated for people who easily meet the US’s own definition of the word ‘terrorist’.

Along with the aforementioned fellow Cuban-American exile hardline congressmember Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, Diaz-Balart condemned efforts of the FBI to work cooperatively with Cuban authorities to bring the mastermind of the Cubana de Aviación Flight 455 bombing and the 1997 Havana hotel bombings, Luis Posada-Carriles, to justice.  In the early 2000s, they even tried to get Panama’s then-President Mireya Moscoso to release Posada-Carriles after he was captured by Cuban intelligence. Diaz-Balart also lobbied for the release of Orlando Bosch, Posada-Carriles’ co-conspirator in the airline bombing. Diaz-Balart and Ros-Lehtinen can hardly credibly present themselves as champions of the Cuban people when a total of 3,478 Cubans have been killed in US-sponsored terrorist attacks, with a further 2,099 wounded.

The duo has also had extensive links to the Nicaraguan “Contra” paramilitary organization, which waged a dirty war against the Sandinista government (that ousted the US-backed Samoza dictatorship in 1979) and perceived sympathizers. Ros-Lehtinen hosted a number of former Contra members at her Miami office in 2008. Diaz-Balart, meanwhile, led efforts to get Otto Reich appointed as the George W. Bush administration’s assistant secretary of state for the Western Hemisphere. Reich reported to Oliver North when he was in charge of funding the Contras (later exposed in the Iran-Contra scandal) and, according to The New York Times, “was in charge of a covert program during the Reagan administration to generate public support in the United States for the anti-Sandinista rebels, known as the contras.”

Of course, Diaz-Balart’s supporters will surely claim that he had a democratic mandate to do all of the things I have enumerated above since he was elected many times to represent his constituents. But this argument has a number of problems. Leaving aside the US’s own dubious democratic credentials and status as a dollarocracy, there is the issue that the Cubans who left Cuba to live in the US are not representative of the Cuban people who remain in Cuba – that is, those who are actually affected by the blockade. For reasons enumerated above, many of the émigrés bear the same grudge against the revolutionary government and, in turn, the Cubans in Cuba who support it. And obviously, those who left the island are likely to be those who are most critical of the government.

But there is another, more subtle factor at play. Cuban exiles imported to South Florida not just their language and customs but also their clientelistic political culture. Batistaites such as Diaz-Balart hold many positions of political power in South Florida, not just in congress but even more so at the local level, as well as many positions of economic power. Failing to toe the line by pronouncing one’s fidelity to the political stances of this Batistaite political and economic elite can mean social ostracization, retaliatory repercussions, job loss, or other economic consequences.

Since I have criticized other obituaries for being too one-sided, perhaps I should add some balance to my own. Diaz-Balart admittedly did have some redeeming qualities. He appeared by all accounts to have been a dutiful public servant to his constituents, making sure that he had many staff devoted to case work from residents of his congressional district. He also declined to side with his party’s hardline nativist wing and remained a champion of immigrants after his defection from the Democratic Party in 1985 and throughout his time in congress.

Whether he would have cozied up to the xenophobic MAGA movement that currently dominates his party remains an open question. But if the actions of his brother Mario and his political protégé Marco Rubio are anything to go by, it doesn’t look good. Rubio ultimately accepted a position in Trump’s cabinet as secretary of state (where he will, no doubt, push for ever greater coercive measures against Cuba, Nicaragua and Venezuela). His brother, meanwhile, reportedly brushed off suggestions that a second Trump administration would lead to deportations of some of his constituents – which, needless to say, is exactly what has happened.

Either way, these mitigating factors will never be able to mask the stench of his role working with the government of a hostile foreign state to immiserate the very people whose wellbeing he claimed to be motivated by. Though I extend my condolences to his family and friends, I personally will shed more tears for the victims of the illegal economic warfare he made a career of supporting and the victims of the terrorists who he spent that career defending.Facebook


Peter Bolton is a New York City-based journalist, activist and scholar. He has a master’s degree from American University in Ethics, Peace and Global Affairs and is currently pursuing graduate studies in bioethics at NYU. Read other articles by Peter.