Word: communes
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...Moscow's consternation, the only Communist nation that has not yet spoken out one way or the other in the worldwide "referendum" is Cuba. Despite the $1,000,000 a day that Russia is pouring into his island commune, Fidel Castro is still angry over Khrushchev's withdrawal of Soviet rockets last fall. Trying to make the Soviet leader sweat, Castro is obviously attempting to boost his price for supporting Russia in its struggle with the Chinese. But there is little doubt that Cuba will ultimately sign the treaty, for Castro needs Russia...
...they have been allowed to cultivate-and to use as a source of independent income. It seemed illogical, since it was the incentive that helped boost farm production in the first place. Nevertheless, in Kiangsi province, Radio Nanchang exhorts daily: "The collective must come before private plots." At a commune in Kwangtung province, where peasants used to have to supply the collective with 33 Ibs. of human ordure a month, their quota has been boosted to 55 Ibs., thus limiting the only fertilizer available for freelance farming. As an added turn of the screw, production quotas for collective output have...
...screen, Peking audiences were watching "A Girl Cloud Watcher," in which, "after a short period of training in meterology, a peasant girl is appointed weatherman of her commune. The film tells of her battle against conservative ideas and the success of her work...
...original 26th of July rebels, many of them anti-Batista and anti-Yanqiii but Cuban nationalists all the way, bitterly protested the intrusion. In October 1959, a bearded leader of Castro's rebel army, Huber Mates, resigned, saying that "the hour is coming when anyone who does not commune with Communism has to leave or be accused of being a traitor." Castro had him arrested on charges of treason and sentenced to 20 years in jail...
...there, Mario de Vecchi, smoking feverishly in an off-yellow suite at the Ritz. Outside lay the Common with its formal drabness, and ten floors below, the Brahmins had gathered noiselessly to commune over impeccably dry martinis in a little bar itself so impeccably austere that it must often puzzle the stranger to Boston with its undeniable similarity to an anteroom in a plush, and extremely respectable sanatorium. Upstairs, behind a swirling curtain of smoke that burst at frequent intervals from just below his faintly smiling mustache, sat Signor de Vecchi, catlike in his expectation...