Castro relaxes grip as documentary aired after long ban
From Ronald Buchanan in Mexico City

IN baseball-mad Cuba, pitcher Orlando Hernandez was the sport's top star in its top team, Industriales of Havana. He might have been dubbed "the King", though in Cuba an elderly fan with a penchant for wearing olive green battle fatigues - by the name of Fidel Castro - probably had a prior claim to that soubriquet.

Whatever the reason, Hernandez was idolised as "El Duque" (the Duke). When he defected to the US a decade ago it sent shock waves round the Communist-ruled island nation. Worse still, he cocked a snoop at the regime's vigorous denigration of professional sport by signing a multi-million-dollar contract with the New York Yankees, the world's richest and most successful baseball club.

The outrage was similar to the stramash that followed Mo Johnston's transfer to Rangers, with one big exception: the Celtic Supporters' Association didn't have Fidel Castro as its president. El Duque was called a traitor to the nation.

Despite starring four times on sides that won the World Series, he was never again mentioned in Cuba's state-controlled media. Yet when film-maker Ian Padron made a documentary on Industriales, he felt he could not leave out El Duque, or indeed two other stars who defected to the US leagues.

That was four years ago. Despite Padron's protests, the government banned the documentary, called Fuera De Liga (A Different League) until last week.

Without any fanfare whatsoever, the controversial film was aired on Cuban TV. In the film, El Duque and the others strongly denied any treason.

"I'm proud to be Cuban," said Hernandez, adding: "And I'm proud to have played for the two best baseball teams in the world, the Yankees and Industriales." At which point, Superman-style, he unzipped his Yankees bomber jacket to reveal the royal-blue shirt of Industriales beneath it.

At 42 years of age, and now with the New York Mets, Hernandez is in the twilight of his career. So too, at 81 and slowly recovering from a mystery illness, is Castro. The Cuban president has not been seen in public since undergoing a series of operations in the summer of 2006, when he handed over day-to-day power to his brother Raul.

But Castro has been shown several times on TV. Scrawny, bedridden, frail, and speaking with a hoarse whisper, he seemed a shadow of the man who had harangued the masses for hours at a time over decades, much less the bearded revolutionary who came down from the hills to take power in 1959.

But, just like El Duque, Castro seems to have a few tricks up his sleeve to compensate for his advancing years. Although Washington sources have been writing him off for more than a year, the old revolutionary reappeared last week on Cuban TV, still thin but in a sprightly, chirpy mood.

And while the world debates the uncertain outcome of the US primaries, Castro is sure to win today's parliamentary elections.

Within weeks, Cuba's parliament will "vote" on the key posts of national president and chairman of the all-powerful Communist Party. Castro has held both posts since they were created but there has been widespread speculation in Washington that he will concede at least one of them to Raul. Meanwhile, the younger Castro has said: "We don't bother Fidel any more with minor matters, but he's always consulted on the big decisions."

Brian Latell, a former CIA analyst who is considered the top US guru on the Havana regime, last week claimed that the Cuban transition to a capitalist regime "has already begun". Few on the island, however, agree.

One source in Cuba, critical of the regime but sympathetic to its goals, told the Sunday Herald last week: "There is change afoot, but not of the regime itself. The government is more united than ever over its need to hold power."

And Fidel seems to be on the move again, the source added. "The fleet of black Mercedes with blacked-out windows - the ones that Fidel always used - have been seen again on the streets of Havana."

Like the critical debate on the nation's way forward promoted by Raul, the screening of Fuera De Liga is a sign of change. It was a victory for intellectuals who had called for it in an email campaign, echoing an earlier campaign to win an apology from the regime for its past persecution of gays.

Protests are never direct, but they come close. Two years ago, Fuera de Liga was banned from a festival of new cinema in Cuba. The team that made it turned up for the event - all of them dressed in baseball shirts.