The silence of the dancers

MIAMI — On the morning of April 15, Miguel Amalfitano* was lying on the floor of a small room in a border-guard station. About 40 people were trying to rest, curled up against their suitcases, wrapped in their coats. Most of them were unwashed, hungry, their faces gaunt from travel, fear or sadness.

Dawn on the border of Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, is often very cold. At least it was during the Easter weekend, when Miguel arrived from Texcoco, after failing to return to Havana. He had been on a tour with the Buena Fe musical group and three other dancers from the National Ballet of Cuba.

In Nuevo Laredo, south of the Río Bravo [Rio Grande], there is a long, fenced-in aluminum bridge that hundreds of people cross (or try to cross) every day. The place is kept secure by guards, infrared detectors, Alsatian dogs, fences, barbed wire and video cameras. The walk up the bridge seems interminable.

Miguel has not had to tell this story. The two of us were next to each other on April 15, sleeping on the same dirty black floor tiles. We were handcuffed to one another when we were taken before an immigration official.

Horrified, we had heard the tale of the people from Guantánamo who took to the sea on Dec. 27, 2013, in a boat propelled by a tractor engine and landed in Honduras, from where, after regaining their strength and earning some money, they went on to Mexico.

And the story of the Cubans who, from Ecuador, had crossed almost eight national borders, dodging the authorities, to reach Mexico’s northern frontier.

I never asked Miguel what he was doing there. Under those conditions and at that point in time, neither of us needed a reason to be there. We greeted each other, he saw me shivering and handed me one of his jackets. Others stared at us. We embraced and finished our conversation. I returned to my suitcase, near the door and the guard. Miguel lay down next to his bags and covered his face. I suppose he was crying. Some friends awaited him. We never saw each other again.

Two weeks ago, eight of his comrades quit the Cuban National Ballet in Puerto Rico, after a well-planned defection. Success has more than enough contrary opinions, personal-political analyses and questions about what might be generating so many separations from the island’s most prestigious ballet company.

Unlike that group, Miguel did not give out interviews, either for personal reasons or ignorance about the press. The young man has either decided to keep his reasons for himself or simply bury them. There’s more than enough reasons in silence.

Today, after reading so much about these youngsters, I think about Lorna Feijó, José Manuel Carreño and Carlos Acosta. When they abandoned the Cuban art project, through contracts or scholarships, very few outside the BNC questioned their decisions. In fact, we do not exactly know the terms of those separations.

I only know that a lot of time will pass before we see them again on a Cuban stage, even though they attended almost all of the Havana Ballet Festivals. And when the world stopped giving awards and praise to those dancers, Acosta returned with Tocororo, then with the English Royal Ballet and Carreño with the American Ballet Theater. Those were outstanding events.

Probably none of those eight youngsters will be like the aforementioned dancers. It’s almost impossible to be Lorna, José Manuel or Acosta, not because of the physical conditions (which could be surpassed) but for the dancing, the sagacity, the intelligence.

They can only wear themselves out on the stage so as not to renounce their dreams, surrender themselves one thousand times more than Alicia Alonso, Lorna, José Manuel or Acosta while they toured the world.

Alonso, the prima ballerina assoluta, is right. There are youngsters who “are dazzled, thinking that they’ll have a promising future, but, statistically, most of those who quit the company become frustrated and fall by the wayside.” So many lights can be deceiving and the future is not always as predicted from a distance.

But there are many, many who after dancing tirelessly in Cuba go to the United States and find space. Miguel, the former solo dancer from the BNC, overcame his moment of uncertainty and impressed the management of the Washington Ballet enough to get a contract.

The list of fine dancers who have quit the BNC is providing artists for five continents. And although we fortunately have a National Ballet School that does miracles and continues to groom extraordinary dancers, something happens in the BNC as the defections continue.

In silence 

The dancers fear to speak out, so, in the building at Calzada and D, the routines will remain the same and each tour will bring sorrow. Progreso Semanal talked with Mónica Gómez, one of the “A”-corps dancers in the BNC and one of the eight dancers who took part in the Puerto Rico escape.

Monica, 21, still lacks a strategy to survive in the United States. Like her companions, she is hoping for the parole document that will bring her economic aid and food before she can send out a job application with photos and videos to various dance companies. Enjoying the tranquillity that the passing of time has brought her, she agrees to talk with us.

Q.: What do you fear?

A.: Ending up doing something other than classical ballet. Not being part of a company. I wouldn’t mind studying, but ballet is what I’ve done all my life. Because I came here to get ahead in dancing, otherwise I wouldn’t have come. Well, to help my family, too. But if I didn’t accomplish all that, I would reproach myself. 

Q.: Are you aware that Miami might not be your final destination? That, in order to follow your dreams, you might have to go to another state where you’ll find a loneliness that you’ve never experienced? 

A.: I know. All this is new to me and, for the moment, my family will help me. They tell me that the best companies are up north. I like San Francisco very much. They mention the Boston and Washington dance companies. There’s the one directed by José Manuel Carreño (Ballet San José) and I would very much like to be there. Presently, we will travel to Jackson, Mississippi, so the Washington director may see us and hopefully he’ll get interested. Here in Miami, the Cuban Classical Ballet cannot guarantee us a future. Many of us have arrived here, asking for help. For now, we can only take classes.  

Q.: Where did you live? 

A.: In Arroyo Naranjo, in the Capri sector. 

Q.: How did you get to the BNC? 

A.: Sometimes my Dad took me. But I saved all my salary to go there in taxi. 

Q.: Have you talked to your parents? 

A.: Yes. 

Q.: What do they tell you? 

A.: My mother gives me advice. She asks me to behave, to not go partying. I tell her, yes, Mommy, I’m aware of those things, I do none of that. 

Q.: And your Dad? 

A.: He thinks that everything is bad, that I’m going to have a lot of trouble. Back in Cuba, I had trouble but my parents always tried to give me everything. The people in Cuba tell Dad that life here is very difficult, but what in life isn’t difficult? 

Q.: How did your life change when you joined the company? 

A.: The National Ballet School was the best period of my life. That’s where I won prizes in national and international contests. I traveled a lot. Teacher Martha Iris [Fernández] was always on top of me. In the company, however, you have to watch out for yourself and we the dancers are slaves.

We have to dance almost for the love of dancing. Money isn’t everything, but we have to make a living. But that’s how Cuba is. It’s as if they [BNC management] profited from our work. It’s all very nice, we dance, everybody likes it, but what about us?

The BNC is falling apart. Through the holes in the dining room ceiling you can see the beams. The rehearsal hall at Fifth and A is fatal. To top it all off, we had to buy our own shoes because the ones they gave us were very bad. Although I was told that they approved the purchase of Gaynor [pointe shoes] and that they would start distributing them.

Q.: How long does a pair of Gaynor Minden** shoes last? 

A.: At the BNC, they have to last one year, because they are extremely expensive. But I suppose that to a principal ballerina they have to give at least two pair.

Q.: How is the relationship between Alicia Alonso and [her husband] Pedro Simón [director of the National Museum of Dance]? 

A.: It is a distant relationship, but she always attended the rehearsals. She was a great ballerina. She is internationally renowned and we’re grateful that she founded the company. But right now she’s an elderly lady who doesn’t see what happens around her because she’s blind. She hears only what others tell her and doesn’t know the needs of her dancers and focuses a lot on the past and how people used to live, but that’s in the past. These are totally different times. I don’t want any problems; I do not wish to talk about Pedro.

*****

In a very short time, the stories of Monica and her travel companions will be forgotten. In Cuba and everywhere else in the world, no storm lasts forever.

Mónica Gómez and Miguel are joined by dance, a native country and loneliness. Both left behind their families, roots, parents, the only people who loved them unconditionally. Someday, someone will ask them what are they doing so far from their people. And it’s likely that they’ll answer something similar to what Carlos Acosta [principal dancer at the Royal Ballet] said in 2011.

“I have asked myself that every day of my life,” he said. “Ever since I won the contest in Lausanne [in 1990], I’ve asked myself if it’s worthwhile being outside, not seeing my family, not being in my home, which I built facing the sea. I am 33 now, and I still wish I could see them arriving at the theaters where I dance, or meeting me at the stage door. Once I stop signing autographs and leave, once my friends and colleagues leave, I am alone. And that’s very hard.”

Right now my hopes hang in a vacuum, in absolute silence. Why talk if nothing ever changes?

 

*This pseudonym is used to keep anonymity of the dancer

 **Gaynor Minden pointe shoes cost at least $100 a pair.