By Paula Day

The story of Cuban detainees holding hostages in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary has several levels -- international, political, human -- the anxiety of the hostages' families; the Cubans' desperation that finally erupted. For two women from St. Philip Benizi parish in Jonesboro, the situation has deep spiritual implications. "They are our brothers in Christ," Lily Delgado says.

Mrs. Delgado and Mercy Pinacas are naturalized American citizens who escaped from Castro's communist suppression: Mrs. Delgado in 1962, Mrs. Pinacas in 1970. They are educated women. One is a physician's wife, the other the wife of an Atlanta businessman. Their children attend local schools.

For a year the two women have visited and prayed with the Cuban detainees at the Atlanta facility each Wednesday evening. They have listened to the Cubans' personal histories, brought them tidbits of news from "the outside." They have helped organize Levadura, translated 'leaven,' formed to help the Cubans "grow spiritually and as human beings" Lily Delgado said.

Mrs. Delgado, 45, moved with her husband, son and daughter to Atlanta from Miami 16 months ago. In Miami she had been involved in the Hispanic Pastoral Encounter from which came the plan for each U.S. diocese to create a pastoral office to deal with Hispanic Catholic affairs. The United States National Conference of Catholic Bishops approved the plan in 1977.

"Since I had been involved in Miami with Encuentro de Pastoral Hispana and because of my condition as a Cuban exile, Sister Pilar asked me to help meet the needs of the Cubans in the Atlanta Penitentiary," Mrs. Delgado explains. "I am Hispanic. I can feel for those people who came to this country and who don't know the language. They feel lost in a community that does not understand them. I myself was lost for many years."

Sister Pilar Dalmau, ACJ, is director of the Hispanic Apostolate for the Atlanta archdiocese. In November, 1986, she, Sister Laura Zambrana, ACJ, and Mrs. Delgado organized and gave a one-day retreat for the Cuban detainees. Lily Delgado recalls, "Something inside of me broke. I think it was the Lord working. It was like I found hundreds of brothers in there. I could sense their sorrow and pain and feeling of segregation -- that 'we are nobody.' Many feel they've been treated as trash -- as garbage. Some are sweet and some react in an aggressive manner. But in the end it's the same -- they've been mistreated."

Mrs. Delgado recalls being particularly touched by the U.S. Bishops' pastoral letter, "Economic Justice For All," and its exhortation for Catholics to have a preferential option for the poor. "We're not here to dream," she says. "We are here to do. You have to become poor to understand what it is to be poor. What you believe has to impact on your life." Mrs. Delgado realizes that because she is a physician's wife society grants her status. In working with the detainees she came to realize her own spiritual poverty. "You can see the Lord in the poor and sick. He is present there more than anywhere else," she says.

The work with the detainees led Lily Delgado and her husband to sponsor two of the Cubans, a requirement for eventual release for those who do not have family in the United States. One, Jose Angel, (last name withheld) was sent from Atlanta to the Oakdale, LA, facility April 8 of this year. He had been told he would be released from there to a halfway house. A copy of a Bureau of Prisons' progress report, dated Oct. 21, 1987, identified his offense. "VIOLATION: Immigration and Nationality Act. SENTENCE: Cuban detainee -- un-sentenced. SENTENCE BEGAN: Detained 10-13-83. MONTHS SERVED: Detained 48 months."

Details in the report provide some insight into the character of Jose Angel. "…recommended for conversational English and vocational training courses … clear conduct record, good work reports … not considered a management problem … His personal appearance and cubicle sanitation was good…" The report concludes that Jose Angel has no medical restrictions and "has no known mental health problems."

Friday morning, Nov. 20, the day before the Oakdale uprising, Lily Delgado received an anguished call from Jose Angel. He told her "They're going to send us back to Cuba. There's a lot of hurt, pain and sorrow going on in the whole penitentiary and before we go we want to say thank you for what you've done."

Mrs. Delgado was not surprised by the uprising. "I knew this was going to happen. I don't know where Jose is now. I know God is taking care of him." About his possible involvement in the hostility, she turned the question around asking what choices would he have in the situation except to go along with the uprising or be killed himself.

Mercy Pinacas agrees. "Yes, we expected it. You can push people only so far. They'd rather die here than in Cuba. They're not going to believe any negotiations with Castro."

In December, 1986, Mrs. Pinacas began going to the Atlanta facility with Lily Delgado who had asked her to prepare a talk for the retreat she was giving.

"The first time I went, I was hooked," she admits. "They are like children -- nursery-school children. They want to hear everything. Little things mean so much. It reminded me that the Lord tells us to be like children. They steal your heart. They beg so simply for love -- saying, 'care about me -- give a damn about me' -- grown men not ashamed to say 'I'm lonely. I don't have anybody.'"

As part of the Levadura experience, the women organized a moment of prayer each noon, agreeing with the detainees to pray at the time "on the outside, while they prayed inside." Mrs. Pinacas recalls that other inmates and even some of the prison officials ridiculed the Levadura group for this and other efforts to build community within the prison.

Mrs. Pinacas recounts her own conversion experience. "I was a comfortable Christian. I went to Mass every Sunday. I taught in the Sunday school. I was involved with the youth group. I gave to the needy. 'I'm good,' I felt." Then she experienced the poverty of spirit of the Cuban detainees. "Some have done wrong things," she agrees, "but they are so simple in accepting their sinfulness. They ask forgiveness over and over. Their whole prayer is 'Have mercy on us, Lord.'"

"People look for the King to come through the airport, red carpet and all," she adds, "but the King is coming through them. He's right here. What we do to each of them, we do to Him."

The apostolate to the Cuban detainees with its weekly meetings for prayer and sharing has not been easy for the two women. Lily Delgado has been called "crazy." She has had her own doubts about spending so much time away from her family even though her husband supports her efforts.

The two women have sensed suspicion from questioners who observe that they are two females working in an all-male environment. "From good Christians, that hurts," Mrs. Delgado adds. She gets encouragement from Pope John Paul's comments that to be true to the Gospel sometimes one has to take a contradictory position, even when well-meaning people say "Be careful. Don’t do that. It's dangerous."

Mrs. Pinacas believes she's being called to "say 'yes' every day." She says there are some Wednesdays when she gets off work at four after a hard day and prepares to go to the penitentiary at five "feeling drained and with nothing to give. That's wonderful," she adds, "because what we DO have, is to go like that -- drained -- and then HE does it for us."

Both women agree they've never been threatened nor the object of sexual innuendos. Nor have they felt fear. They do feel strongly the call to do what they can for the detainees. "They don't have a voice," Mercy Pinacas says. "All they have is our voice. We are their voice."