In Fidel Castro’s Cuba, Luis Haza, learned quickly that he was marked for being the son of an executed man.

His father, Bonifacio Haza, was forced into a dark cow pasture and executed with 70 other prisoners in January 1959. Overseeing it all was Mr. Castro’s youngest brother, Raul Castro, the second in command of Cuba’s new communist government.

With this week marking the 48th anniversary of Mr. Castro’s rise to power, many in the Cuban American community are speculating that the ailing leader is near death, if not already dead. While some observers believe that Raul Castro, his likely successor, may usher in a new era of reform in Cuba, stories like that of Bonifacio Haza make it clear that Raul Castro will never be seen as legitimate by the Cuban American community.

Luis Haza was 8 when Fidel Castro declared victory over the Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista on January 1, 1959. Although Bonifacio Haza was chief of the civilian police force of the city of Santiago under Batista, he did not support the dictator — he believed that Mr. Castro would bring free elections to Cuba.

“My father thought the revolution was for democracy,” Mr. Haza said. “Castro betrayed my father and the entire revolution.”

After his father’s death, Mr. Haza was ostracized at school. But a gift for music gave him a rare chance to erase the taint of his family history and become a nationally celebrated model of the Castro revolution. He began violin lessons at 9 and soon earned a reputation as child prodigy among teachers and musicians. Before long, the Castro government took notice.

At 12, Mr. Haza was made an associate concertmaster of a professional orchestra filled with musicians many years his senior. The government began paying him a monthly salary and sent him touring around the country. “The power structure wanted to see if I could be ‘integrated’ into the system,” Mr. Haza said. “If they integrate the son of an executed man, it would be a model for all the young people.”

A year later, the government offered Mr. Haza several scholarships in Eastern Europe; one even held out the possibility of studying under the violin great David Oistrakh. It was an opportunity that would likely have sealed Mr. Haza’s standing as a darling of Mr. Castro’s Cuba. But he refused, telling a high-level official: “No. But if you send me to the United States, I will go.”

“The dream was to come to the United States for freedom,” Mr. Haza said. “We knew that in Cuba, eventually we would die, just like we had seen neighbors die, and so-andso disappeared. It was a daily thing, a daily subject: American freedom, to go to the United States.”

For Mr. Haza, America had become a symbol of freedom and hope, in part because it was Mr. Castro’s no. 1 enemy. “All Castro did was speak against the Americans. Yankee imperialism this, and Yankee imperialism that,” Mr. Haza said. “Then we would listen to the Voice of America and hear the truth.

But the government hadn’t given up on integrating Mr. Haza. Its next attempt was a nationally televised event in which Mr. Haza was to play a solo for Raul Castro. Although Mr. Haza practiced for the program, he refused to play once the day came.

His punishment came several days later, at an orchestra rehearsal. A squad of militiamen charged in, pointing machine guns at Mr. Haza. “Boy! Play something!” one of the men shouted. The room was silent. Terrified, Mr. Haza picked up his violin and began to play. But the notes that came out were a surprise, even to him.

“I played the American national anthem, “The Star Spangled Banner” — ba ba bam bam bam bammm!” Mr. Haza said, waving his hands as if conducting the music. “The entire thing! You could hear a pin drop. I finished playing, and nobody knew what to do.”

Mr. Haza, however, understood that after that moment, his days in Cuba were numbered.

Fortunately, one of his uncles was a high-level official in the government. The uncle’s wife was a friend of one of Mr. Castro’s lovers. Mr. Haza’s grandmother spoke to the wife, who spoke to the lover. Without fanfare, Mr. Haza, his mother, and his brothers boarded an airplane along with a communist delegation, bound for Europe.

The family landed in Madrid, Spain, where they lived for six months before receiving approval to immigrate to America.

The Hazas arrived in America on November 3, 1964 — Election Day. It was also Mr. Haza’s oldest brother’s 18th birthday. At the airport, Mr. Haza recalled his mother telling his brother, “I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you.” His brother replied: “Mother, I’ve gotten the greatest gift. I’ve got liberty today.”

Mr. Haza, then 14, began playing his violin at a restaurant to earn money. Soon, a local church found him a violin teacher at the National Symphony Orchestra. From there, he was sent to study at Peabody Institute at Johns Hopkins University and the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia.

Today, Mr. Haza, 57, lives in a quiet suburb in northern Virginia. Now in his 23rd season as music director of the American Youth Philharmonic, he has conducted the National Symphony Orchestra, London Symphony Orchestra, and the national orchestras of El Salvador, Panama, and Guatemala, and he is planning to lead the AYP at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing

Mr. Haza has also devoted himself to celebrating the ideals he believes his father died for. His advocacy projects include the “Celebration of Freedom” concert program at the John F. Kennedy Center in Washington, for which he directed a gala for the Cuban human rights advocate Armando Valladares. He also led the AYP in the “Spirit of Freedom” concert at Carnegie Hall after the attacks of September 11, 2001.

Like many Cuban Americans, Mr. Haza is closely following developments in his native country, hoping that America will continue its stand for freedom in the face of a second Castro presidency.

“I am alive, and I daresay happy, because of the American way. I am very proud to be American,” Mr. Haza said. “American stewardship is unparalleled. There is no other country on earth that has what the United States has. Its greatest resource is its people. I have seen it institutionally and individually.”

Pumping his forefinger in the air, he added, “It is just pure stewardship, and that is the spirit of America.”