El hombre que intentó evitar que Elián González regresara a Cuba

El hombre que intentó evitar que Elián González regresara a Cuba
2001 Pulitzer Prize, Spot News Photography, Alan Diaz, Associated PressIt's dawn in Miami's Little Havana. Photographers and reporters doze on lawn chairs. Demonstrators mill about after in all-night vigil. Inside the house, a family lawyer negotiates by phone with U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno. On the sofa sleeps 6-year-old Elian Gonzalez.Associated Press photographer Alan Diaz stands at the backyard fence. For five months from this spot. Diaz has covered the international custody war between the child's cousins in Miami and father in Cuba. Diaz has lived in Cuba and speaks Spanish. The relatives let him take pictures. But he must stay outside the fence. And he must never, ever speak to Elian.At 5 a.m. on April 22. 2000, rumors swirl: a temporary accord may allow a visit with the boys lather. The rumors prove untrue. All at once Diaz hears heavy boots stampede the backyard. He grabs his camera, jumps the fence. A family friend lets him in the front door and locks it. Federal agents smash through the house. Diaz sees the relatives scream, mouths moving but bodies frozen."Where's the boy?" Diaz shouts. Someone shoves him into the bedroom. Donato Dalrymple, who plucked Elian from the sea, is trying to hide the boy. "What's happening?" Elian asks. "What's happening?" For the first time, Diaz speaks to Elian, tries to calm him down. Then agents kick open the door. One points a 9 mm submachine gun. Diaz takes the picture: a terrified child being seized by the federal government. The lightning move by federal agents takes just 154 seconds.Even today, long after the court rulings have sent Elian back to Cuba with his father, one thing remains a mystery to photographer Diaz. He canât figure out how he jumped the fence. "It may have been my pulsing adrenaline." he says. "But then again, I guess it was part of what I always doâI shoot pictures."
2001 Pulitzer Prize, Spot News Photography, Alan Diaz, Associated PressIt's dawn in Miami's Little Havana. Photographers and reporters doze on lawn chairs. Demonstrators mill about after in all-night vigil. Inside the house, a family lawyer negotiates by phone with U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno. On the sofa sleeps 6-year-old Elian Gonzalez.Associated Press photographer Alan Diaz stands at the backyard fence. For five months from this spot. Diaz has covered the international custody war between the child's cousins in Miami and father in Cuba. Diaz has lived in Cuba and speaks Spanish. The relatives let him take pictures. But he must stay outside the fence. And he must never, ever speak to Elian.At 5 a.m. on April 22. 2000, rumors swirl: a temporary accord may allow a visit with the boys lather. The rumors prove untrue. All at once Diaz hears heavy boots stampede the backyard. He grabs his camera, jumps the fence. A family friend lets him in the front door and locks it. Federal agents smash through the house. Diaz sees the relatives scream, mouths moving but bodies frozen."Where's the boy?" Diaz shouts. Someone shoves him into the bedroom. Donato Dalrymple, who plucked Elian from the sea, is trying to hide the boy. "What's happening?" Elian asks. "What's happening?" For the first time, Diaz speaks to Elian, tries to calm him down. Then agents kick open the door. One points a 9 mm submachine gun. Diaz takes the picture: a terrified child being seized by the federal government. The lightning move by federal agents takes just 154 seconds.Even today, long after the court rulings have sent Elian back to Cuba with his father, one thing remains a mystery to photographer Diaz. He canât figure out how he jumped the fence. "It may have been my pulsing adrenaline." he says. "But then again, I guess it was part of what I always doâI shoot pictures."

Cuando el pescador Donato Dalrymple tomó en sus brazos a Elián González la madrugada del 22 de abril de 2000 pensó que era un sueño. En realidad, una pesadilla.

A las 5 de la mañana, después de haber dormido menos de cuatro horas en un sofá y de despertarse a los gritos de "agáchense o disparamos" provenientes del jardín, no tuvo mucho tiempo para pensar.

Simplemente vio a un niño de 6 años llorando, indefenso. El mismo que casi cinco meses antes había rescatado del océano, flotando en un neumático, luego de que su madre, su padrastro y casi la totalidad de los ocupantes de la embarcación en que venían murieran intentando cruzar el estrecho de la Florida desde Cuba. Y, una vez más, intentó rescatarlo. O eso pensó él.

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