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I've gathered pieces of information here and there, stringing them together like an awkward collage of newspaper, opinion, anecdote and coffee: I interviewed my father's old friend over coffee, read El Listin Diario on my way to Puerto Plata. I asked my cousin questions about Dominican universities under the loud TGI Friday's sign--the hang-out spot for people our age in Santo Domingo. Mmmmm.....Dominican versions of American food--not what I came to Dominican Republic for. I saw extensions of his blood line in Dominican churches, in the boulevard he must have walked through in the afternoons, in the small house that punished him for being so tall, where he would repeatedly hit his head. I saw him in the museums and in the painting my uncle painted which hangs in the Museo Bellapart in Santo Domingo. I searched for him in the Zona Colonial and in the streets of his home town. I asked all of those who knew him--What was he like?
Augusto Jesus Miranda. Born on December 24, 1925.
I think....
Augusto Jesus Miranda, member of the Catorce de Junio, an anti-Trujillo movement, for which he was arrested.
Was he tortured?
His brother was.
And I am his daughter.
Augusto Jesus Miranda was saved by his American citizenship, so as to not call too much attention to the international community about the atrocities that were being committed in Dominican Republic in the mid-1900's. So he fled. He fled to the United States to preserve his life.
From what I understand and have heard....
Where can I get information that will help me know for sure who this man was; this man who's eyes and forehead I carry? Is it possible to know for sure whether my father was as justice oriented as I try to be or just caught up in the crew his friends hung out in?
And is it true what the man on the airplane told me? That sometimes when the older generation passes away and their dreams and visions die with them, these dreams are resurrected in the next generation.
He told me that I carry my father's dream for a just Dominican Republic.
I wandered the halls of the "Sala Memorial A Los Heroes" and read a loud to myself,
"No puede haber tirania en una sociedad donde la mayor parte de los ciudadanos conoce sus derechos, respeta los ajenos y esta siempre lista a defender los unos y los otros."
("There cannot be tirany in a society where the greater part of the citizens know their right, respect those of others and are always ready to defend one another")
I stood beneath the Hermanas Mirabal monument and looked up at them in admiration. I stared at their faces in the billete of 200 pesos.
I bought "El Golpe Del Estado" by journalist, Miguel Guerrero, to search through the pages of history for Dominican Republic's democratic and revolutionary spirit.
As an onlooker-- as an outsider looking in-- I see widespread corruption and worse, complacency, in the land of my parents. Where are the politically-active university students? Where are the spinning wheels of the thinkers in the country?
Balaguer killed many of them, following Trujillo's example.
Could it be that the Dominican people are traumatized by the suppression of their speech and inalienable right to critically think? Or am I perceiving the situation ignorantly?
I only have a few pieces of information.
Augusto Jesus Miranda. Born on December 24, 1925.
I think....
Augusto Jesus Miranda, member of the Catorce de Junio, an anti-Trujillo movement, for which he was arrested.
Was he tortured?
His brother was.
And I am his daughter.
Augusto Jesus Miranda was saved by his American citizenship, so as to not call too much attention to the international community about the atrocities that were being committed in Dominican Republic in the mid-1900's. So he fled. He fled to the United States to preserve his life.
From what I understand and have heard....
Where can I get information that will help me know for sure who this man was; this man who's eyes and forehead I carry? Is it possible to know for sure whether my father was as justice oriented as I try to be or just caught up in the crew his friends hung out in?
And is it true what the man on the airplane told me? That sometimes when the older generation passes away and their dreams and visions die with them, these dreams are resurrected in the next generation.
He told me that I carry my father's dream for a just Dominican Republic.
I wandered the halls of the "Sala Memorial A Los Heroes" and read a loud to myself,
"No puede haber tirania en una sociedad donde la mayor parte de los ciudadanos conoce sus derechos, respeta los ajenos y esta siempre lista a defender los unos y los otros."
("There cannot be tirany in a society where the greater part of the citizens know their right, respect those of others and are always ready to defend one another")
I stood beneath the Hermanas Mirabal monument and looked up at them in admiration. I stared at their faces in the billete of 200 pesos.
I bought "El Golpe Del Estado" by journalist, Miguel Guerrero, to search through the pages of history for Dominican Republic's democratic and revolutionary spirit.
As an onlooker-- as an outsider looking in-- I see widespread corruption and worse, complacency, in the land of my parents. Where are the politically-active university students? Where are the spinning wheels of the thinkers in the country?
Balaguer killed many of them, following Trujillo's example.
Could it be that the Dominican people are traumatized by the suppression of their speech and inalienable right to critically think? Or am I perceiving the situation ignorantly?
I only have a few pieces of information.
Do I get this from you, dad? This burning in me that doesn't let me succumb to the cynical suggestions of my elders, "Don't worry, you'll become cynical too. This is just your youthful idealism." Do I get my stubborn insistence to climb the structural ladders for answers to structural problems that affect the poor, from you?
I want to know you. Where have you left the remnants of your soul?
