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                                                                                CUBA, Page 56

The Man Who Would Oust Castro


Jorge Mas Canosa hasn't reached his goal yet, but he may be
the world's most influential Cuban exile

By CATHY BOOTH/MIAMI


    He's been called both a dictatorial "monster" and a
modern-day Jose Marti, determined to vanquish Fidel Castro just
as Marti battled Spain to free Cuba a century ago. Miami
millionaire Jorge Mas Canosa is perhaps the most influential
Cuban outside Havana. Over the past decade, he has built the
Cuban American National Foundation, a lobby group representing
Miami's Cuban exiles, into a muscular bullyboy capable of
swaying U.S. foreign policy and pressuring governments from
Moscow to Mexico City.

    But for Mas, that is not enough. He dreams of a house
overlooking the bay in his native Santiago de Cuba. He dreams
of converting the island back to capitalism. And he dreams of
becoming its first democratically elected President when Castro
is gone. "I have a right to dream of a model republic for Cuba,"
he says. "If I'm criticized for that, fine. But the Cuban people
themselves think the foundation is the logical option after
Castro. We have practically won, and Fidel has lost."

    From an office in a Miami industrial park, Mas plots his
return with an army of economists, lawyers and corporate
executives. A committee of businessmen has drawn up a $15
billion blueprint for economic reconstruction, complete with an
inventory of government property to be privatized after Castro's
fall. An economic peace corps of 10,000 Cuban-American
professionals will be trained to fan out across the island and
teach free-market methods to their bewildered communist
comrades. Lawyers have drafted principles for a new
constitution. Videotapes smuggled into Cuba reassure islanders
about the exiles' plans, and the foundation's shortwave radio
frequency assaults Cuban airwaves with dissident news and gossip
-- and Mas speeches.

    Despite the big plans, Mas hedges on his own post-Castro
ambitions. "I am not running for President of Cuba, but I am not
going to give up my right to run for President," he says. Former
friends like banker Raul Masvidal, a co-creator of the
foundation who left in a leadership dispute seven years ago, say
they are not fooled. "Jorge has always had a well-established
agenda of his own," warns Masvidal. "He is on a quest to become
the future dictator of Cuba. He is a monster in the making."

    Like Fidel, the man he most hates, Mas finds it hard to
deal with such criticism. His temper is fiery: he once
challenged a local politician to a duel for thwarting a real
estate deal. Those who cross him are labeled communists or
traitors; private eyes investigate their lives. Last week the
foundation threatened to file a suit against public broadcasting
stations that aired a documentary by the University of West
Florida about the foundation's crusade to free Cuba. When the
Miami Herald editorialized against the 32-year-old trade embargo
against Cuba, Mas launched a citywide billboard campaign to
protest. Anonymous callers phoned in bomb threats, and the
paper's vending machines were jammed with feces.

    Mas' power base at the foundation continues to grow.
Formed in 1981 by 14 Miami businessmen, it lists 254,000
families as members and is opening new chapters in 10 cities
across the U.S. as well as in Mexico City, Madrid and Moscow.
Chairman Mas travels the world to urge governments to isolate
Castro; at Mas' behest two years ago, the Czechs stopped
representing Cuba in Washington. To encourage Moscow to cut its
remaining trade ties with the island, he even offered the
foundation's help in subsidizing Russia's sugar purchases
elsewhere.

    Both the Reagan and Bush Administrations have avidly
sought the group's counsel. Not to be outdone, Democratic
presidential candidate Bill Clinton has traveled to Miami's
Little Havana to seek Cuban-American money and Mas' support. In
Congress the foundation was the major force behind the creation
of Radio and TV Marti, the U.S.-sponsored propaganda stations
beamed into Cuba. Outside the legislative realm, the group won
the right to prescreen Cuban immigrants headed for the U.S.
from third countries, and last year it rammed through
regulations limiting the money Cuban exiles can send to
relatives back home.

    Mas' latest pet bill passed Congress in late September and
awaits President Bush's signature: the Cuban Democracy Act will
prohibit subsidiaries of U.S. companies from trading with the
island and bar any ship that docks in Cuba from unloading at
U.S. ports. Prominent dissidents in Cuba argued that the measure
would only worsen living conditions, not oust Castro. While the
White House supports the embargo, it opposed tightening it for
fear of alienating U.S. trade allies but quickly changed its
mind after Clinton backed the measure. "There's no question Mas
has a lot of power in Washington," said one diplomat. "No one
would say no to him."

    As the country's suffering deepens from the loss of Soviet
aid, Cuban exile groups are rethinking their strategy and
calling for more dialogue with the Castro regime to prevent a
violent transition if communism collapses. Liberal Cuban
Americans blame Mas for trying to upset that process. "The whole
point of the Cuban Democracy Act was to halt the transformation
of Cuba," argues Alicia Torres, executive director of the Cuban
American Committee. "Mas' only hope is to create violence. Is
that what the rest of the U.S. wants?" Mas counters that the act
actually safeguards Cuba's future by requiring elections within
six months and making sure Washington makes no deals with
"another dictator."

    The debate over the legislation has reawakened doubts
about Mas' own methods and motives. Born in Santiago to a Cuban
army veterinarian, he was arrested as a teenager in the 1950s
for denouncing dictator Fulgencio Batista on the radio. He fled
to Miami in 1960, fearing he would be arrested again, this time
for openly defying Castro. He worked as a dishwasher, shoe
salesman and milkman in Little Havana while editing an
anti-Castro paper funded by Jose Bosch, the Bacardi rum magnate.
Mas signed on with the aborted 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion and
once tried to outfit a B-26 aircraft with bombs to hit Cuba's
oil refineries.

    Today he is a more sophisticated militant whose weapon is
money, not missiles. A self-made millionaire reportedly worth
$10 million, he built his fortune as a young partner in the
local contracting firm of Iglesias y Torres, then bought out the
company and Anglicized the name to Church & Tower. He lives
behind high walls in a Spanish-style mansion in south Miami and
drives a bulletproof blue Mercedes. He is sentimental enough to
have planted six royal palms in his backyard, one for each of
Cuba's provinces. "I am more Cuban than American," he says. "I
prefer eating plantains to American food."

    While charming and generous with his friends, he is
another man altogether at the foundation. Several of the
foundation's directors have left in a fury over his autocratic
ways; a group of friends and business associates controls most
decisions. Membership is expensive: directors pay $10,000 a year
for the privilege, trustees pay $5,000, and 54,000 others tithe
regularly like churchgoers. "Only directors can vote, trustees
can talk and members can applaud," complains Frank Calzon, the
foundation's first executive director.

    In Washington, Mas cultivates a more moderate image. He is
highly rated for being tenacious, energetic and well informed;
he testifies regularly on Cuban issues, waylays Congressmen in
the capital's corridors and even invites them down to Miami for
intimate dinners. "At first, they thought all Cubans were drug
traffickers and bomb throwers," says Francisco Hernandez, the
current foundation president. "We would bring down some
Congressmen so they'd see we didn't meet in smoke-filled rooms
with Cubans screaming `Kill Castro!' "

    Money from the foundation's political-action committee has
also helped buy influence. During the past decade, Mas' members
have donated $1.1 million in campaign contributions; Mas
himself is the biggest Hispanic contributor nationwide. In this
election year, more than $200,000 has gone to lobbying efforts
and campaign contributions for sympathetic Congressmen -- mostly
Democrats -- including $26,750 to New Jersey Congressman Robert
Torricelli, principal sponsor of the Cuban Democracy Act. But
President Bush has received the bulk of the foundation's
presidential contribution: $57,000, vs. $1,750 for Clinton.

    By pressing his advantage during the presidential
campaign, Mas won his immediate goal: a tighter embargo on
Havana's trade. Whether that succeeds in shortening Castro's
tenure is uncertain, but the pain it causes ordinary Cubans
could be severe. What worries some of Mas' countrymen is that
his personal ambitions may overshadow the good of a homeland he
hasn't seen in 32 years.