The Man Who Would Oust Castro

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.